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FRANK R. STOCKTON 

Volume XX 

KATE BONNET 


































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































. 






























































































'If you talk to me like that / mil cut you down where 
you stmd" 

From a drawing by A. I. KELLER 


L 


THE NOVELS AND STOEIES OF 
FKANK K. STOCKTON 


KATE BONNET: THE 
ROMANCE OF A PI- 
RATE’S DAUGHTER 



NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 
1903 



YZ* 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

MAR 23 1903 

Copyright Entry 

AW . V (-/<?0 £ 

CLASS <3- XXc. No. 

t 

COPY A. 


Copyright, 1901, 1902, by D. Appleton and Company; 
1903, by Charles Scribner’s Sons 



\ 


THE DEVINNE PRESS. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

i Two Young People, a Ship, and a 

Fish 3 

ii A Fruit-basket and a Friend . 11 

hi The Two Clocks 23 

iy On the Quarter-deck ... 32 

y An Unsuccessful Errand . . .42 

vi A Pair of Shoes and Stockings . 52 

vii Kate Plans 60 

yiii Ben Greenway is Convinced that Bon- 
net is a Pirate .... 68 

ix Dickory Sets Forth . . . .88 

x Captain Christopher Yince . . 100 

xi Bad Weather 113 

xii Face to Face 118 

xiii Captain Bonnet Goes to Church . 126 

xiv A Girl to the Front . . . 138 

xv The Governor of Jamaica . . . 141 

xvi A Question of Etiquette . . . 148 

xvii An Ornamented Beard . . . .160 

xviii I have no Right ; I am a Pirate . 166 

xix The New First Lieutenant . . .173 


v 





KATE BONNET 


CHAPTER I 

TWO YOUNG PEOPLE, A SHIP, AND A FISH 

T HE month was September and the place was in 
the neighborhood of Bridgetown, in the island of 
Barbados. The seventeenth century was not seven- 
teen years old, but the girl who walked slowly down 
to the river-bank was three years its senior. She 
carried a fishing-rod and line, and her name was Kate 
Bonnet. She was a bright-faced, quick-moving young 
person, and apparently did not expect to catch many 
fish, for she had no basket in which to carry away her 
finny prizes. Nor, apparently, did she have any bait, 
except that which was upon her hook, and which had 
been affixed there by one of the servants at her home, 
not far away. In fact, Mistress Kate was too nicely 
dressed and her gloves were too clean to have much 
to do with fish or bait ; but she seated herself on a 
little rock in a shady spot not far from the water and 
threw forth her line. Then she gazed about her— a 
little up the river and a good deal down the river. 

It was truly a pleasant scene which lay before her 
eyes. Not half a mile away was the bridge which 

3 


KATE BONNET 


gave this English settlement its name, and beyond 
the river were woods and cultivated fields, with here 
and there a little bit of smoke ; for it was growing late 
in the afternoon, when smoke meant supper. Beyond 
all this the land rose from the lower ground near the 
river and the sea, in terrace after terrace, until the 
upper stretches of its woodlands showed clear against 
the evening sky. 

But Mistress Kate Bonnet now gazed steadily down 
the stream, beyond the town and the bridge, and paid 
no more attention to the scenery than the scenery 
did to her, although one was quite as beautiful as the 
other. 

There was a bunch of white flowers in the hat of 
the young girl ; not a very large one, and not a very 
small one, but of such a size as might be easily seen 
from the bridge, had any one happened to be crossing 
about that time. And, in fact, as the wearer of the 
hat and the white flowers still continued to gaze at 
the bridge, she saw some one come out upon it with a 
quick, buoyant step, and then she saw him stop and 
gaze steadily up the river. At this she turned her 
head, and her eyes went out over the beautiful land- 
scape and the wide terraces rising above each other 
toward the sky. 

It is astonishing how soon after this a young man, 
dressed in a brown suit, and very pleasant to look 
upon, came rapidly walking along the river -bank. 
This was Master Martin Newcombe, a young English- 
man, not two years from his native land, and now a 
prosperous farmer on the other side of the river. 

It often happened that Master Newcombe, at the 
close of his agricultural labors, would put on a good 

4 


TWO PEOPLE, A SHIP, AND A FISH 


suit of clothes and ride over the bridge to the town, 
to attend to business or to social duties, as the case 
might be. But sometimes, not willing to encumber 
himself with a horse, he walked over the bridge and 
strolled or hurried along the river-bank. This was 
one of the times in which he hurried. He had been 
caught by the vision of the bunch of white flowers in 
the hat of the girl who was seated on the rock in the 
shade. 

As Master Hewcombe stepped near, his spirits rose, 
as they had not always risen, as he approached Mis- 
tress Kate 5 for he perceived that, although she held 
the handle of her rod in her hand, the other end of it 
was lying on the ground, not very far away from the 
bait and the hook, which, it was very plain, had not 
been in the water at all. She must have been think- 
ing of something else besides fishing, he thought. But 
he did not dare to go on with that sort of thinking in 
the way he would have liked to do it. He had not 
too great a belief in himself, though he was very much 
in love with Kate Bonnet. 

“Is this the best time of day for fishing, Master 
Newcombe?” she said, without rising or offering him 
her hand. “For my part, I don’t believe it is.” 

He smiled as he threw his hat upon the ground. 
“Let me put your line a little farther out.” And so 
saying, he took the rod from her hand and stepped 
between her and the bait, which must have been now 
quite hot from lying so long in a bit of sunshine. He 
rearranged the bait and threw the line far out into the 
river. Then he gave her the rod again. He seated 
himself on the ground near by. 

“This is the second time I have been over the 


5 


KATE BONNET 


bridge to-day,” he said, “and this morning, very 
early, I saw, for the first time, your father’s ship, 
which was lying below the town. It is a fine vessel, 
so far as I can judge, being a landsman.” 

“Yes,” said she ; “and I have been on board of her 
and have gone all over her, and have seen many 
things which are queer and strange to me. But the 
strangest thing about her, to my mind, being a lands- 
woman, is that she should belong to my father. 
There are many things which he has not which it 
would be easy to believe he would like to have, but 
that a ship, with sails and anchors and hatchways, 
should be one of these things, it is hard to imagine.” 

Young Newcombe thought it was impossible to 
imagine, but he expressed himself discreetly. 

“It must be that he is going to engage in trade,” he 
said ; “has he not told you of his intentions'? ” 

“Hot much,” said she. “He says he is going to 
cruise about among the islands, and when I asked him 
if he would take me, he laughed, and answered that 
he might do so, but that I must never say a word of 
it to Madam Bonnet, for if she heard of it she might 
change his plans.” 

The wicked young man found himself almost wish- 
ing that the somewhat bad-tempered Madam Bonnet 
might hear of and change any plan which might take 
her husband’s daughter from this town, especially in 
a vessel ; for vessels were always terribly tardy when 
any one was waiting for their return, and, besides, 
it often happened that vessels never came back at all. 

“I shall take a little trip with him, even if we don’t 
go far ; it would be ridiculous for my father to own a 
ship and for me never to sail in her.” 

6 


TWO PEOPLE, A SHIP, AND A FISH 


“That would not be so bad,” said Master Martin, 
feeling that a short absence might be endured. More- 
over, if a little pleasure trip were to be made, it was 
reasonable enough to suppose that other people, not 
belonging to the Bonnet family, might be asked to 
sail as guests. 

“What my father expects to trade in,” said she, 
contemplatively gazing before her, “I am sure I do 
not know. It cannot be horses or cattle, for he has 
not enough of them to make such a venture profitable. 
And as to sugar-cane or anything from his farm, I am 
sure he has a good enough market here for all he has 
to sell. Certainly he does not produce enough to 
make it necessary for him to buy a ship in order to 
carry it away.” 

“It is opined,” said Martin, “by the people of the 
town, that Major Bonnet intends to become a com- 
mercial man, and to carry away to the other islands, 
and perhaps to the old country itself, the goods of 
other people.” 

“Now that would be fine ! ” said Mistress Kate, her 
eyes sparkling, “for I should then surely go with him, 
and would see the world, and perhaps London.” And 
her face flushed with the prospect. 

Martin’s face did not flush. “But if your father’s 
ship sailed on a long voyage,” he said, with a suspicion 
of apprehension, “he would not sail with her ; he 
would send her under the charge of others.” 

The girl shook her head. “When she sails,” said 
she, “he sails in her. If you had heard him talking 
as I have heard him, you would not doubt that. And 
if he sails, I sail.” 

Martin’s soul grew quite sad. There were very 
7 


KATE BONNET 


good reasons to believe that this dear girl might sail 
away from Bridgetown, and from him. She might 
come back to the town, but she might not come back 
to him. 

“ Mistress Kate,” said he, looking very earnestly at 
her, “do you know that such speech as this makes my 
heart sink? You know I love you ; I have told you 
so before. If you were to sail away, I care not to 
what port, this world would be a black place for me.” 

“That is like a lover !” she exclaimed a little pertly. 
“It is like them all, every man of them. They must 
have what they want, and they must have it, no 
matter who else may suffer.” 

He rose and stood by her. 

“But I don’t want you to suffer,” he said. “Do you 
think it would be suffering to live with one who loved 
you, who would spend his whole life in making you 
happy, who would look upon you as the chief thing 
in the world, and have no other ambition than to 
make himself worthy of you ? ” 

She looked up at him with a little smile. 

“That would doubtless be all very pleasant for 
you,” she said, “and in order that you might be 
pleased you would have her give up so much. That 
is the way with men ! How, here am I, born in the 
very end of the last century, and having had, conse- 
quently, no good out of that, and with but seventeen 
years in this century, and most of it passed in girl- 
hood and in school ; and now, when the world might 
open before me for a little, here you come along and 
tell me all that you would like to have and that you 
would like me to give up.” 

“But you should not think—” said he ; and that was 

8 


TWO PEOPLE, A SHIP, AND A FISH 


all he said, for at that moment Kate Bonnet felt a 
little jerk at the end of her line, and then a good 
strong pull. 

“I have a fish ! ” she cried, and sprang to her feet. 

Then, with a swoop, she threw into the midst of the 
weeds and wild flowers a struggling fish, which Martin 
hastened to take from the hook. 

“A fine fellow ! ” he cried, “and he has arrived just 
in time to make a dainty dish for your supper.” 

“Ah, no ! ” she said, winding the line about her rod. 
“If I were to take that fish to the house it would 
sorely disturb Madam Bonnet. She would object to 
my catching it ; she would object to having it pre- 
pared for the table ; she would object to having it 
eaten, when she had arranged that we should eat 
something else. No ; I will give it to you, Master 
Newcombe. I suppose in your house you can cook and 
eat what you please.” 

“Yes,” said he ; “but how delightful it would be if 
we could eat it together !” 

“Meaning,” said she, “that I should never eat other 
fish than those from this river. No, sir ; that may 
not be. I have a notion that the first foreign fish I 
shall eat will be found in the island of Jamaica, for 
my father said that possibly he might first take a trip 
there, where lives my mother’s brother, whom we have 
not seen for a long time. But, as I told you before, 
nobody must know this. And now I must go to my 
supper, and you must take yours home with you.” 

“And I am sure it will be the sweetest fish,” he 
said, “that was ever caught in all these waters. But 
I beg, before you go, you will promise me one thing.” 

“Promise you ! ” said she, quite loftily. 

9 


KATE BONNET 


“Yes,” he answered ; “tell me that, no matter where 
you go, you will not leave Bridgetown without letting 
me know of it.” 

“I will not, indeed,” said she ; “and if it is to Ja- 
maica we go, perhaps my father— but no, I don’t be- 
lieve he will do that. He will be too much wrapped 
up in his ship to want for company to whom he must 
attend and talk.” 

“Ah, there would be no need of that ! ” said New- 
combe, with a lover’s smile. 

She smiled back at him. 

“Good night ! ” she said, “and see to it that you 
eat your fish to-night while it is so fresh.” Then she 
ran up the winding path to her home. 

He stood and looked after her until she had disap- 
peared among the shrubbery, after which he walked 
away. 

“I should have said more than I did,” he reflected ; 
“seldom have I had so good a chance to speak and 
urge my case. It was that confounded ship. Her 
mind is all for that and not for me.” 


10 


CHAPTER II 


A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND 

Major Stede Bonnet, the father of Kate, whose 
mother had died when the child was hut a year old, 
was a middle-aged Englishman of a fair estate in the 
island of Barbados. He had been an officer in the 
army, was well educated and intelligent, and now, in 
vigorous middle life, had become a confirmed country 
gentleman. His herds and his crops were to him the 
principal things on earth, with the exception of his 
daughter ; for, although he had married for the second 
time, there were a good many things which he valued 
more than his wife. And it had therefore occasioned 
a good deal of surprise, and more or less small talk 
among his neighbors, that Major Bonnet should want 
to buy a ship. But he had been a soldier in his youth, 
and soldiers are very apt to change their manner of 
living, and so, if Major Bonnet had grown tired of 
his farm and had determined to go into commercial 
enterprises, it was not, perhaps, a very amazing thing 
that a military man who had turned planter should 
now turn to be something else. 

Madam Bonnet had heard of the ship, although she 
had not been told anything about her stepdaughter 
taking a trip in her, and if she had heard she might 
11 


KATE BONNET 


not have objected. She had regarded, in an appar- 
ently careless manner, her husband’s desire to navi- 
gate the sea ; for, no matter to what point he might 
happen to sail, his ship would take him away from 
Barbados, and that would very well suit her. She 
was getting tired of Major Bonnet. She did not be- 
lieve he had ever been a very good soldier ; she was 
positively sure that he was not a good farmer ; and 
she had the strongest kind of doubt as to his ability 
as a commercial man. But as this new business would 
free her from him, at least for a time, she was well 
content ; and, although she should feel herself some- 
what handicapped by the presence of Kate, she did 
not intend to allow that young lady to interfere with 
her plans and purposes during the absence of the head 
of the house. So she went her way, saying nothing 
derisive about the nautical life, except what she con- 
sidered it necessary for her to do in order to main- 
tain her superior position in the household. 

Major Bonnet was now very much engaged and a 
good deal disturbed, for he found that projected sail- 
ing, even in one’s own craft, is not always smooth 
sailing. He was putting his vessel in excellent order, , 
and was fitting her out generously in the way of stores 
and all manner of nautical needfuls, not forgetting 
the guns necessary for defence in these somewhat dis- 
ordered times, and his latest endeavors were toward 
the shipping of a suitable crew. Seafaring men were 
not scarce in the port of Bridgetown, but Major Bon- 
net, now entitled to be called “ Captain,” was very 
particular about his crew, and it took him a long time 
to collect suitable men. 

As he was most truly a landsman, knowing nothing 
12 


A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND 


about the sea or the various intricate methods of 
navigating a vessel thereupon, he was compelled to 
secure a real captain— one who would be able to take 
charge of the vessel and crew, and who would do, and 
have done, in a thoroughly seamanlike manner, what 
his nominal skipper should desire and ordain. 

This absolutely necessary personage had been secured 
almost as soon as the vessel had been purchased, be- 
fore any of the rest of the crew had signed ship’s arti- 
cles ; and it was under his general supervision that 
the storing and equipment had been carried on. His 
name was Sam Loftus. He was a big man with a 
great readiness of speech. There were, perhaps, some 
things he could not do, but there seemed to be nothing 
that he was not able to talk about. As has been said, 
the rest of the crew came in slowly ; but they did come, 
and Major Bonnet told his daughter that when he had 
secured four more men it was his intention to leave port. 

“And sail for Jamaica?” she exclaimed. 

“Oh, yes,” he said, with an affectionate smile j “and 
I will leave you with your TJncle Delaplaine, where 
you can stay while I make some little cruises here 
and there.” 

“And so I am really to g of” she exclaimed, her 
eyes sparkling. 

“ Beall y to go,” said he. 

“And what may I pack up?” she asked, thinking 
of her stepmother. 

“Hot much,” he said, “not much. We will be able 
to find at Spanish Town something braver in the way 
of apparel than anything you now possess. It will be 
some days before we sail, and I shall have quietly 
conveyed on board such belongings as you need.” 

13 


KATE BONNET 


She was very happy, and she laughed. 

“ Yours will be an easily laden ship,” said she, “for 
you take in with you no great store of goods for traffic. 
But I suppose you design to pick up your cargo among 
the islands where you cruise, and at a less cost, per- 
chance, than it could be procured here ? ” 

“Yes, yes,” he said 5 “you have hit it fairly, my 
little girl, you have hit it fairly.” 

New annoyances now began to beset Major Bonnet. 
What his daughter had remarked in pleasantry the 
people of the town began to talk about unpleasantly. 
Here was a good-sized craft about to set sail, with 
little or no cargo, but with a crew apparently much 
larger than her requirements, but not yet large 
enough for the desires of her owner. To be sure, as 
Major Bonnet did not know anything about ships, he 
was bound to do something odd when he bought one 
and set forth to sail upon her, but there were some 
odd things which ought to be looked into 5 and there 
were people who advised that the attention of the 
colonial authorities should be drawn to this ship of 
their farmer- townsman. Major Bonnet had such a 
high reputation as a good citizen that there were few 
people who thought it worth while to trouble them- 
selves about his new business venture, but a good many 
disagreeable things came to the ears of Sam Loftus, 
who reported them to his employer, and it was agreed 
between them that it would be wise for them to sail 
as soon as they could, even if they did not wait for 
the few men they had considered to be needed. 

Early upon a cloudy afternoon, Major Bonnet and 
his daughter went out in a small boat to look at his 
vessel, the Sarah Williams , which was then lying a 
short distance below the town. 


14 


A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND 

“Now, Kate,” said the good Major Bonnet, when 
they were on board, “I have fitted np a little room 
for you below, which I think you will find comfort- 
able enough during the voyage to Jamaica. I will 
take you with me when I return to the house, and 
then you can make up a little package of clothes, 
which it will be easy to convey to the river-bank 
when the time shall come for you to depart. I can- 
not now say just when that time will arrive; it may 
be in the daytime or it may be at night : but it will 
be soon, and I will give you good notice, and I will 
come up the river for you in a boat. But now I am 
very busy, and I will leave you to become acquainted 
with the Sarah Williams , which, for a few days, will 
be your home. I shall be obliged to row over to the 
town for, perhaps, half an hour, but Ben Green way will 
be here to attend to anything you need until I return.” 

Ben Greenway was a Scotchman, who had for a 
long time been Major Bonnet’s most trusted servant. 
He was a good farmer, was apt at carpenter-work, 
and knew a good deal about masonry. A few months 
ago, any one living in that region would have been 
likely to say, if the subject had been brought up, that 
without Ben Greenway Major Bonnet could not get 
along at all, not even for a day, for he depended upon 
him in so many ways. And yet, now the master of the 
estate was about to depart, for nobody knew how 
long, and leave his faithful servant behind. The 
reason he gave was that Ben could not be spared 
from the farm; but people in general, and Ben in 
particular, thought this very poor reasoning. Any 
sort of business which made it necessary for Major 
Bonnet to separate himself from Ben Green way was a 
very poor business, and should not be entered upon. 

15 


KATE BONNET 


The deck of the Sarah Williams presented a lively 
scene as Kate stood upon the little quarter-deck and 
gazed forward. The sailors were walking about and 
sitting about ; smoking; talking; or coiling things away ; 
there were people from- the shore with baskets con- 
taining fruit and other wares for sale ; and all was 
stirring and new and very interesting to Miss Kate as 
she stood; with her ribbons flying in the river breeze. 

“Who is that young fellow? ” she said to Ben Green- 
way, who was standing by her, “the one with the big 
basket ? It seems to me I have seen him before.” 

“Oh, ay ! ” said Ben, “he has been on the farm. 
That is Dickory Charter, whose father was drowned 
out fishin’ a few years ago. He is a good lad, an’ 
boards all ships cornin’ in or goin’ out to sell his wares, 
for his mither leans on him now, havin’ no ither.” 

The youth, who seemed to feel that he was being 
talked about, now walked aft, and held up his basket. 
He was a handsome youngster, lightly clad and bare- 
footed, and, although not yet full-grown, of a strong 
and active build. Kate beckoned to him, and bought 
an orange. 

“An’ how is your mither, Dickory?” said Ben. 

“Eight well, I thank you,” said he, and gazed at 
Kate, who was biting a hole in her orange. 

Then, as he turned and went away, having no rea- 
son to expect to sell anything more, Kate remarked 
to Ben : “That is truly a fine-looking young fellow. 
He walks with such strength and ease, like a deer or 
a cat.” 

“That comes from no’ wearin’ shoes,” said Ben ; 
“but as for me, I would like better to wear shoes an’ 
walk mair stiffly.” 


16 


A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND 


Now there came aft a sailor, who touched his cap 
and told Ben Greenway that he was wanted below to 
superintend the stowing some cases of the captain’s 
liquors. So Kate, left to herself, began to think about 
what she should pack into her little bundle. She 
would make it very small, for the fewer things she 
took with her the more she would buy at Spanish 
Town. But the contents of her package did not re- 
quire much thought, and she soon became a little tired 
staying there by herself, and therefore she was glad 
to see young Dickory, with his orange-basket, walk- 
ing aft. 

“I don’t want any more oranges,” she said, when 
he was near enough, “but perhaps you may have 
other fruit?” 

He came up to her and put down his basket. “I 
have bananas, but perhaps you don’t like them?” 

“Oh, yes, I do ! ” she answered. 

But, without offering to show her the fruit, Dickory 
continued : “There’s one thing I don’t like, and that’s 
the men on board your ship.” 

“What do you mean?” she asked, amazed. 

“Speak lower,” he said ; and, as he spoke, he be- 
thought himself that it might be well to hold out 
toward her a couple of bananas. 

“They’re a bad, hard lot of men,” he said. “I heard 
that from more than one person. You ought not to 
stay on this ship.” 

“And what do you know about it, Mr. Impudence ? ” 
she asked, with brows uplifted. “I suppose my father 
knows what is good for me.” 

“But he is not here,” 4 said Dickory. 

Kate looked steadfastly at him. He did not seem 
17 


KATE BONNET 


as ruddy as he had been. And then she looked out 
upon the forward deck, and the thought came to her 
that when she had first noticed these men it had 
seemed to her that they were, indeed, a rough, hard 
lot. Kate Bonnet was a brave girl, but, without 
knowing why, she felt a little frightened. 

“Your name is Dickory, isn’t it?” she said. 

He looked up quickly, for it pleased him to hear 
her use his name. “Indeed it is,” he answered. 

“Well, Dickory,” said she, “I wish you would go 
and find Ben Greenway. I should like to have him 
with me until my father comes back.” 

He turned, and then stopped for an instant. He 
said in a clear voice : “I will go and get the shilling 
changed.” And then he hurried away. 

He was gone a long time, and Kate could not under- 
stand it. Surely the Sarah Williams was not so big a 
ship that it would take all this time to look for Ben 
Greenway. But he did come back, and his face 
seemed even less ruddy than when she had last seen 
it. He came up close to her, and began handling his 
fruit. 

“I don’t want to frighten you,” he said, “but I must 
tell you about things. I could not find Ben Green- 
way, and I asked one of the men about him, feigning 
that he owed me for some fruit, and the man looked 
at another man and laughed, and said that he had 
been sent for in a hurry, and had gone ashore in a 
boat.” 

“I cannot believe that,” said Kate ; “he would not 
go away and leave me.” 

Dickory could not believe it either, and could offer 
no explanation. 


18 


A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND 


Kate now looked anxiously over the water toward 
the town, but no father was to be seen. 

“Kow let me tell you what I found out,” said 
Dickory ; “you must know it. These men are wicked 
robbers. I slipped quietly among them to find out 
something, with my shilling in my hand ready to ask 
somebody to change, if I was noticed.” 

“Well, what next?” laying her hand on his arm. 

“Oh, don’t do that ! ” he said quickly. “Better take 
hold of a banana. I spied that Big Sam, who is sail- 
ing-master, and a black-headed fellow taking their 
ease behind some boxes, smoking, and I listened with 
all sharpness. And Sam he said to the other one— 
not in these words, but in language not fit for you to 
hear— what he would like to do would be to get off 
on the next tide. And when the other fellow asked 
him why he didn’t go then and leave the fool— mean- 
ing your father— to go back to his farm, Big Sam 
answered, with a good many curses, that if he could 
do it he would drop down the river that very minute 
and wait at the bar until the water was high enough to 
cross, but that it was impossible, because they must not 
sail until your father had brought his cash -box onboard. 
It would be stupid to sail without that cash-box.” 

“Dickory,” said she, “I am frightened ; I want to 
go on shore, and I want to see my father and tell him 
all these things.” 

“But there is no boat,” said Dickory ; “every boat 
has left the ship.” 

“But you have one,” said she, looking over the side. 

“It is a poor little canoe,” he answered, “and I am 
afraid they would not let me take you away, I having 
no orders to do so.” 


19 


KATE BONNET 


Kate was about to open her mouth to make an in- 
dignant reply, when he exclaimed, “But here comes 
a boat from the town ; perhaps it is your father ! ” 

She sprang to the rail. “No, it is not,” she ex- 
claimed 5 “it holds but one man, who rows.” 

She stood, without a word, watching the approach- 
ing boat, Dickory doing the same, but keeping himself 
out of the general view. The boat came alongside 
and the oarsman handed up a note, which was pres- 
ently brought to Kate by Big Sam, young Dickory 
Charter having in the meantime slipped below with 
his basket. 

“A note from your father, Mistress Bonnet,” said 
the sailing-master. And as she read it he stood and 
looked upon her. 

“My father tells me,” said Kate, speaking decidedly 
but quietly, “that he will come on board very soon, 
but I do not wish to wait for him. I will go back to 
the town. I have affairs which make it necessary for 
me to return immediately. Tell the man who brought 
the note that I will go back with him.” 

Big Sam raised his eyebrows and his face assumed 
a look of trouble. 

“It grieves me greatly, Mistress Bonnet,” he said, 
“but the man has gone. He was ordered not to wait 
here.” 

“Shout after him ! ” cried Kate. “Call him back ! ” 

Sam stepped to the rail and looked over the water. 
“He is too far away,” he said, “but I will try.” And 
then he shouted ; but the man paid no attention, and 
kept on rowing to shore. 

“I thought it was too far,” he said ; “but your father 
will be back soon— he sent that message to me. And 
20 


A FRUIT-BASKET AND A FRIEND 


now, fair mistress, what can we do for you? Shall it 
be that we send you some supper? Or, as your cabin 
is ready, would you prefer to step down to it and wait 
there for your father ? ” 

“No,” said she ; “I will wait here for my father. I 
want nothing.” 

So, with a bow, he strode away, and presently 
Dickory came back. She drew near to him and whis- 
pered. “Dickory,” she said, “what shall I do? Shall 
I scream and wave my handkerchief? Perhaps they 
may see and hear me from the town.” 

“No,” said Dickory; “I would not do that. The 
night is coming on, and the sky is cloudy. And, be- 
sides, if you make a noise, those fellows might do 
something.” 

“Oh, Dickory, what shall I do?” 

“You must wait for your father,” he said ; “he 
must be here soon, and the moment you see him, call 
to him and make him take you to shore. You should 
both of you get away from this vessel as soon as you 
can.” 

For a moment the girl reflected. “Dickory,” said 
she, '“I wish you would take a message for me to 
Master Martin Newcombe. He may be able to get 
here to me even before my father arrives.” 

Dickory Charter knew Master Newcombe, and he 
had heard what many people had talked about, that 
he was courting Major Bonnet’s daughter. The day 
before Dickory would not have cared who the young 
planter was courting, but this evening, even to his 
own surprise, he cared very much. He was intensely 
interested in Kate, and he did not desire to help Mar- 
tin Newcombe to take an interest in her. Besides, he 
21 


KATE BONNET 


spoke honestly as he said : “And who would there be 
to take care of you ? Ho, indeed ; I will not leave you.” 

“Then row to the town,” said she, “and have a boat 
sent for me.” 

He shook his head. “Ho,” he said ; “I will not 
leave you.” 

Her eyes flashed. “You should do what you are 
commanded to do ! ” and in her excitement she almost 
forgot to whisper. 

He shook his head and left her. 


22 


CHAPTER III 


THE TWO CLOCKS 

It was already beginning to grow dark. She sat, and 
she sat ; she waited, and she waited ; and at last she 
wept, but very quietly. Her father did not come ; 
Ben Greenway was not there ; and even that Charter 
boy had gone. A man came aft to her— a mild-faced 
elderly man— with further offers of refreshment and 
an invitation to go below out of the night air. But 
she would have nothing ; and as she sadly waited and 
gently wept it began to grow truly dark. Presently, 
as she sat, one arm leaning on the rail, she heard a 
voice close to her ear, and she gave a great start. 

“It is only Dickory,” whispered the voice. 

Then she put her head near him and was glad 
enough to have put her arms around his neck. 

“I have heard a great deal more,” whispered Dick- 
ory. “These men are dreadful. They do not know 
what keeps your father, although they have suspicions 
which I could not make out ; but if he does not come 
on board by ten o’clock they will sail without him, 
and without his cash-box.” 

“And what of me?” she almost cried. “What of 
me?” 

“They will take you with them,” said he \ “that’s 

23 


KATE BONNET 


the only thing for them to do. But don’t be fright- 
ened ; don’t tremble. You must leave this vessel.” 

“But how? ” she said. 

“Oh, I will attend to that,” he answered, “if you 
will listen to me and do everything I tell you. "We 
can’t go until it is dark, but while it is light enough 
for you to see things I will show you what you must 
do. Now, look down over the side of the vessel.” 

She leaned over and looked down. He was appar- 
ently clinging to the side, with his head barely reach- 
ing the top of the rail. 

“Do you see this bit of ledge I am standing on? ” he 
asked. “Could you get out and stand on this, holding 
to this piece of rope as I do ? ” 

“Yes,” said she, “I could do that.” 

“Then, still holding to the rope, could you lower 
yourself down from the ledge and hang to it with 
your hands?” 

“And drop into your boat?” said she. “Yes, I 
could do that.” 

“No,” said he, “not drop into my boat 5 it would 
kill you if you fell into the boat. You must drop 
into the water.” 

She shuddered, and felt like screaming. 

“But it will be easy to drop into the water 5 you 
can’t hurt yourself, and I shall be there. My boat 
will be anchored close by, and we can easily reach it.” 

“Drop into the water ! ” said poor Kate. 

“But I will be there, you know,” said Dickory. 

She looked down upon the ledge, and then she 
looked below it to the water, which was idly flapping 
against the side of the vessel. 

“Is it the only way ? ” said she. 

24 


THE TWO CLOCKS 


“It is the only way,” he answered, speaking very 
earnestly. “You must not wait for your father ; from 
what I hear, I fear he has been detained against his 
will. By nine o’clock it will be dark enough.” 

“And what must I do ? ” she said, feeling cold as she 
spoke. 

“Listen to every word,” he answered. “This is 
what you must do. You know the sound of the bell 
in the tower of the new church? ” 

“Oh, yes,” said she ; “I hear it often.” 

“And you will not confound it with the bell in the 
old church ? ” 

“Oh, no ! ” said she ; “it is very different, and gen- 
erally they strike far apart.” 

“Yes,” said he ; “the old one strikes first. When 
you hear it, it will be quite dark, and you can slip 
over the rail and stand on this ledge, as I am doing 5 
then keep fast hold of this rope, and you can slip far- 
ther down and sit on the ledge and wait until the 
clock of the new church begins to strike nine. Then 
you must get off the ledge and hang by your two 
hands. When you hear the last stroke of nine, you 
must let go and drop. I shall be there.” 

“But if you shouldn’t be there, Dickory ! Couldn’t 
you whistle ? Couldn’t you call gently ? ” 

“No,” said Dickory ; “if I did that, their sharp ears 
would hear and lanterns would be flashed on us, and 
perhaps things would be cast down upon us. That 
would be the quickest way of getting rid of you.” 

“But, Dickory,” she said, after a moment’s silence, 
“it is terrible about my father and Ben Greenway. 
Why don’t they come back ? What’s the matter with 
them f ” 


25 


KATE BONNET 


He hesitated a little before answering. 

“From what I heard, I think there is some trouble 
on shore, and that’s the reason why your father has 
not come for you as soon as he expected. But Q he 
thinks you safe with Ben Greenway. How what we 
have to do is to get away from this vessel ; and then 
if she sails and leaves your father and Ben Greenway, 
it will be a good thing. These fellows are rascals, and 
no honest person should have to do with them. But 
now I must get out of sight, or somebody will come 
and spoil everything.” 

Big Sam did come aft, and told Kate he thought she 
would come to injury sitting out in the night air. 
But she would not listen to him, and only asked him 
what time of night it was. He told her that it was 
not far from nine, and that she would see her father 
very soon, and then he left her. 

“It would have been a terrible thing if he had come 
at nine,” she said to herself. Then she sat very still, 
waiting for the sound of the old clock. 

Dickory Charter had not told Miss Kate Bonnet all 
that he had heard when he was stealthily wandering 
about the ship. He had slipped down into the chains 
near a port-hole on the other side of which Big Sam 
and the black-haired man were taking supper, and he 
heard a great deal of talk. Among other things, he 
heard a bit of conversation which, when expurgated 
of its oaths and unpleasant expressions, was like this. 

“You are sure you can trust the men?” said Black- 
hair. 

“Oh, yes !” replied the other, “they’re all right.” 

“Then why don’t you go now? At any time offi- 
cers may be rowing out here to search the vessel.” 

26 


THE TWO CLOCKS 


“And well they might. For what needs an old 
farmer with an empty vessel, a crew of seventy men, 
and ten guns ? He is in trouble, you may wager your 
life on that, or he would be coming to see about his 
girl.” 

“And what will you do about her?” 

“Oh, she’ll not be in the way,” answered Big Sam, 
with a laugh. “If he doesn’t take her off before I 
sail, that’s his business. If I am obliged to leave port 
without his cash-box, I will marry his daughter and 
become his son-in-law— I don’t doubt we can find a 
parson among all the rascals on board ; then, perhaps, 
he will think it his duty to send me drafts to the 
different ports I touch at.” 

At this good joke, both of them laughed. 

“But I don’t want to go without his cash-box,” con- 
tinued Big Sam, “and I will wait until high tide, 
which will be about ten o’clock. It would be unsafe 
to miss that, for I must not be here to-morrow morn- 
ing. But the long-boat will be here soon. I told 
Boger to wait until half-past nine, and then to come 
aboard with old Bonnet or without him, if he didn’t 
show himself by that time.” 

“But, after all,” said the black-haired man, “the 
main thing is, will the men stand by you ? ” 

“You needn’t fear them,” said the other, with an 
aggravated oath ; “I know every rascal of them.” 

“Now, then,” said Dickory Charter to himself, as he 
slipped out of the chains, “she goes overboard, if I 
have to pitch her over.” 

Nothing had he heard about Ben Greenway. He 
did not believe that the Scotchman had deserted his 
young mistress. Even had he been sent for to go on 
27 


KATE BONNET 


shore in haste, would he leave without speaking to 
her f More than that, he would most likely have taken 
her with him. 

But Dickory could not afford to give much thought 
to Ben Greenway. Although a good friend to both 
himself and his mother, he was not to be considered 
when the safety of Mistress Kate Bonnet was in ques- 
tion. 

The minutes moved slowly, very slowly indeed, as 
Kate sat, listening for the sound of the old clock, and 
at the same time listening for the sound of approach- 
ing footsteps. 

It was now so dark that she could not have seen 
anybody without a light, but she could hear as if she 
had possessed the ears of a cat. 

She had ceased to expect her father. She was sure 
he had been detained on shore— how, she knew not ; 
but she did know he was not coming. 

Presently the old clock struck, one, two— In a 
moment she was climbing over the rail. In the dark- 
ness she missed the heavy bit of rope which Dickory 
had showed her, but feeling about she clutched it and 
let herself down to the ledge below. Her nerves were 
quite firm now. It was necessary to be so very par- 
ticular, to follow Dickory’s directions to the letter, 
that her nerves were obliged to be firm. She slipped 
still farther down and sat sidewise upon the narrow 
ledge— so narrow that if the vessel had rolled she 
could not have remained upon it. 

There she waited. 

Then there came, sharper and clearer out of the 
darkness in the direction of the town, the first stroke 
28 


THE TWO CLOCKS 


of nine o’clock from the tower of the new church. 
Before the second stroke had sounded she was hanging 
by her two hands from the ledge. She hung at her 
full length ; she put her feet together ; she hoped that 
she would go down smoothly and make no splash. 

Three — four — five — six— seven— eight— nine— and 
she let her fingers slip from the ledge. Down she 
went, into the darkness and into the water, not know- 
ing where one ended and the other began. Her eyes 
were closed, but they might as well have been open ; 
there was nothing for her to see in all that blackness. 
Down she went, as if it were to the very bottom of 
black air and black water. And then suddenly she 
felt an arm around her. 

Dickory was there ! 

She felt herself rising, and Dickory was rising, still 
with his arm around her. In a moment her head was 
in the air, and she could breathe. How she felt that 
he was swimming, with one arm and both legs. In- 
stinctively she tried to help him, for she had learned 
to swim. They went on a dozen strokes or more, 
with much labor, until they touched something hard. 

“My boat,” said Dickory, in the lowest of whispers ; 
“take hold of it.” 

Kate did so, and he moved from her. She knew 
that he was clambering into the boat, although she 
could not see or hear him. Soon he took hold of her 
under her arms, and he lifted with the strength of a 
young lion, yet so slowly, so warily, that not a drop of 
water could be heard dripping from her garments. 
And when she was drawn up high enough to help 
herself, he pulled her in, still warily and slowly. 

29 


KATE BONNET 


Then he slipped to the how and cast off the rope with 
which the canoe had been anchored. It was his only 
rope, but he could not risk the danger of pulling up 
the bit of rock to which the other end of it was fast- 
ened. Then, with a paddle, worked as silently as if 
it had been handled by an Indian, the canoe moved 
away, farther and farther, into the darkness. 

“Is all well with you ? 77 said Dickory, thinking he 
might now safely murmur a few words. 

“All well , 77 she murmured back, “except that this is 
the most uncomfortable boat I ever sat in ! 77 

“I expect you are on my orange-basket , 77 he said ; 
“perhaps you can move it a little . 77 

Now he paddled more strongly, and then he stopped. 

“Where shall I take you, Mistress Bonnet ? 77 he 
asked, a little louder than he had dared to speak 
before. 

Kate heaved a sigh before she answered ; she had 
been saying her prayers. 

“I don’t know, you brave Dickory , 77 she answered, 
“but it seems to me that you can’t see to take me 
anywhere. Everything is just as black as pitch, one 
way or another . 77 

“But I know the river,” he said, “with light or 
without it. I have gone home on nights as black as 
this. Will you go to the town ? 77 

“I would not know where to go to there,” she an- 
swered, “and in such a plight.” 

“Then to your home,” said he. “But that will be 
a long row, and you must be very cold.” 

She shuddered, but not with cold. If her father 
had been at home it would have been all right ; but 
her stepmother would be there, and that would not 
30 


THE TWO CLOCKS 

be all right. She would not know what to say to 
her. 

“Oh, Dickory,” she said, “I don’t know where 
to go ! ” 

“I know where you can go,” he said, beginning to 
paddle vigorously. “I will take you to my mother. 
She will take care of you to-night and give you dry 
clothes, and to-morrow you may go where you will.” 


31 


CHAPTER IV 

ON THE QUARTER-DECK 

As the time approached when Big Sam intended to 
take the Sarah Williams out of port, it seemed really 
necessary that Mistress Kate Bonnet should descend 
from the exposed quarter-deck and seek shelter from 
the night air in the captain’s cabin or in her own room ; 
and, as she had treated him so curtly at his last inter- 
view with her, he sent the elderly man with the mild 
countenance to tell her that she really must go below, 
for that he, Big Sam, felt answerable to her father for 
her health and comfort. But when the elderly man 
and his lantern reached the quarter-deck, there was 
no Mistress Kate there, and, during the rapid search 
which ensued, there was no Mistress Kate to be found 
on the vessel. 

Big Sam was very much disturbed ; she must have 
jumped overboard. But what a wild young woman, 
to do that upon such little provocation ! For how 
should she know that he was about to run away with 
her father’s vessel % 

“This is a bad business,” he said to the black -haired 
man, “and who would have thought it?” 

“I see not that,” said Black Paul, “nor why you 
should trouble yourself about her. She is gone, and 
32 


ON THE QUARTER-DECK 

you are well rid of her. Had she stayed aboard with 
us, every ship in the colony might have been cruising 
after us before to-morrow’s sun had gone down.” 

But this did not quiet the cowardly soul of Big Sam. 

“Now I shall tell you,” said he, “exactly what 
happened. A little before dark she went ashore in a 
boat which was then leaving the ship. I allowed her 
to do this because she was very much in earnest about 
it, and talked sharply, and also because I thought the 
town was the best place for her, since it was growing 
late and her father did not seem to be coming. Now, 
if the old man comes on board, that’s what happened j 
but if he does not come on board, the devil and the 
fishes know what happened, and they may talk about 
it if they like. But if any man says anything to old 
Bonnet except as I have ordered, then the fishes shall 
have another feast.” 

“And now, what I have to say to you,” said Black 
Paul, “is that you should get away from here without 
waiting for the tide. If one of these rascals drops 
overboard and swims ashore, he may get a good re- 
ward for news of the murder committed on this vessel, 
and there isn’t any reason to think, so far as I know, 
that the Sarah Williams can sail any faster than two 
or three other vessels now in the harbor.” 

“There’s sense in all that,” said Big Sam, as he 
walked forward. But he suddenly stopped, hearing, 
not very far away, the sound of oars. 

Now began the body and soul of Big Sam to tremble. 
If the officers of the law, having disposed of Captain 
Bonnet, had now come to the ship, he had no sufficient 
tale to tell them about the disappearance of Mistress 
Kate Bonnet ; nor could he resist. For why should 
33 


KATE BONNET 


the crew obey his orders ? They had not yet agreed 
to receive him as their captain, and, so far, they had 
done nothing to set themselves against the authorities. 
It was a bad case for Big Sam. 

But now the ship was hailed, and the voice which 
hailed it was that of Captain Bonnet. And the soul 
of Big Sam upheaved itself. 

In a few minutes Bonnet was on board, with a big 
box and the crew of the long-boat. Speaking rapidly, 
he explained to Big Sam the situation of affairs. The 
authorities of the port had indeed sadly interfered 
with him. They had heard reports about the unladen 
vessel and the big crew ; and, although they felt loath 
to detain and to examine a fellow- townsman, hitherto 
of good report, they did detain him and they did ex- 
amine him, and they would have gone immediately 
to the ship had it not been so dark. 

But under the circumstances they contented them- 
selves with the assurance of the respectable Mr. Bonnet 
that he would appear before them the next morning 
and give them every opportunity of examining his 
most respectable ship. Having done this, they retired 
to their beds, and the respectable Bonnet immediately 
boarded his vessel. 

“Now,” cried Captain Bonnet, “where is my daugh- 
ter ? I hope that Ben Greenway has caused her to 
retire to shelter.” 

“Your daughter ! ” exclaimed Big Sam, before any 
one else could speak. “She is not here. It was still 
early twilight when she told me she would wait no 
longer, and desired to be sent ashore in a boat. This 
request, of course, I immediately granted, feeling 
bound thereto, as she was your daughter, and that I 
was, in a measure, under her orders.” 

34 


ON THE QUARTER-DECK 

Captain Bonnet stood, knitting his brows. 

“Well, well!” he presently cried, with an air of 
relief, “it is better so. Her home is the best place 
for her, as matters have turned out. And now,” said 
he, turning to Big Sam, “call the men together and 
set them to quick work. Pull up your anchors and 
do whatever else is necessary to free the ship ; then 
let Us away. W e must be far out of sight of this island 
before to-morrow’s sunrise.” 

As Big Sam passed Black Paul he winked and whis- 
pered : “The old fool is doing exactly what I would 
have done if he hadn’t come aboard. This suits my 
plan as if he were trying his best to please me.” 

In a very short time the cable was slipped, for Big 
Sam had no notion of betraying the departure of the 
vessel by the creaking of a capstan and, with the 
hoisting of a few sails and no light aboard except 
the shaded lamp at the binnacle, the Sarah Williams 
moved down the river and out upon the sea. 

“And when are you going to take the command in 
your hands ? ” asked Black Paul of Big Sam. 

“To-morrow sometime,” was the answer; “but I 
must first go around among the men and let them 
know what’s coming.” 

“And how about Ben Greenway ? Has the old man 
asked for him yet? ” 

“Ho,” said the other. “He thinks, of course, that 
the Scotchman has gone ashore with the young woman. 
What else could he do, being a faithful servant? To- 
morrow I shall set Greenway free and let him tell his 
own tale to his master. But I shall tell my tale first, 
and then he can speak or not speak, as he chooses ; it 
will make no difference one way or the other.” 

Soon after dawn the next morning Captain Bonnet 
35 


KATE BONNET 


was out of his hammock and up on deck. He looked 
about him and saw nothing but sea, sea, sea. 

Big Sam approached him. “I forgot to tell you,” 
said he, “that yesterday I shut up that Scotchman of 
yours, for, from his conduct, I thought that he had 
some particular reason for wanting to go on shore ; 
and fearing that if he did so he would talk about this 
vessel, and so make worse the trouble I was sure you 
were in, I shut him up as a matter of precaution, and 
forgot to mention him to you last night.” 

“You stupid blockhead ! ” roared Mr. Bonnet. “How 
like an ass you have acted ! Hot for a bag of gold 
would I have taken Ben Greenway on this cruise ; 
and not for a dozen bags would I have deprived my 
family of his care and service. You ought to be 
thrown into the sea ! Ben Greenway here ! Of all 
men in the world, Ben Greenway here ! ” 

“I only thought to do you a service,” said Big Sam. 

“Service!” shouted the angry Bonnet. But as it 
was of no use to say anything more upon this subject, 
he ordered the sailing-master to send to him, first, Ben 
Greenway, and then to summon to him, no matter 
where they might be or what they might be doing, 
the whole crew. 

The other, surprised at this order, objected that all 
of the men could not leave their posts ; but Bonnet 
overruled him. 

“Send me the whole of them, every man jack. The 
fellow at the wheel will remain here and steer. As 
for the rest, the ship will take care of itself for a space.” 

“What can that old fool of a farmer intend to do f ” 
said Big Sam, as he went away. “He is like a child 
with a toy, and wants to see his crew in a bunch.” 

36 


ON THE QUARTER-DECK 

Presently came Ben Greenway in a smothered rage. 

“An 7 I suppose, sir,” said he, without salutation, 
“that ye have gi’en orders about the care o’ the cows 
an’ the lot o’ poultry that I engaged to send to the 
town to-day?” 

“Don’t mention cows or poultry to me ! ” cried 
Bonnet. “I am a more angry man than you are, Ben 
Greenway, and as soon as I have time to attend to it, 
I shall look into this matter of your shutting up, and 
shall come down upon the wrong-doers like sheeted 
lightning.” 

“What a fearful rage ye’re in, Master Bonnet,” 
said Ben. “I never saw the like o’ it. If ye’re really 
angrier than I am, I willna revile, leavin’ it to ye to 
do the revilin’ wha are so much better qualified. An’ 
so it wasna accident that I was shut up in the ship’s 
pantry, leavin’ Mistress Kate to gang hame by hersel’, 
an’ to come out this mornin’ findin’ the ship at sea an’ 
ye in command ? ” 

“Say no more, Ben,” cried Bonnet. “I am more 
sorry to see you here than if you were any other man 
I know in this world. But I cannot put you off now, 
nor can I talk further about it, being very much 
pressed with other matters. Now here comes my 
crew.” 

Ben Greenway retired a little, leaning against the 
rail. 

“An’ this is his crew?” he muttered. “A lot o’ un- 
kempt wild beasts, it strikes me. Mayhap he has 
gathered them togither to convert their souls, an’ he 
is about to preach his first sermon to them.” 

Now all the mariners of the Sarah Williams were 
assembled aft, and Captain Bonnet was standing on 
37 


KATE BONNET 


his quarter-deck, looking out upon them. He was 
dressed in a naval uniform, to which was added a 
broad red sash. In his belt were two pairs of big 
pistols, and a stout sword hung by his side. He folded 
his arms, he knitted his brows, and he gazed fiercely 
about to see if any one were absent, although if any 
one had been absent he would not have known it. 
His eyes flashed, his cheeks were flushed, and it was 
plain enough to all that he had something important 
to say. 

“My men,” he cried in a stalwart voice which no 
one there had ever heard him use before, “my men, 
look upon me and you will not see what you expect 
to see ! Here is no planter, no dealer in horses and 
fat cattle, no grower of sugar-cane ! Instead of that,” 
he yelled, drawing his sword and flourishing it above 
his head, “instead of that I am Pirate Bonnet, the 
new terror of the sea ! You, my men, my brave men, 
you are not the crew of the good merchantman the 
Sarah Williams; you are pirates all. You are the pi- 
rate crew of the pirate ship Revenge . That is now the 
name of this vessel on which you sail, and you are all 
pirates who henceforth shall sail her. 

“Now look aloft, every man of you, and you will 
see a skull and bones, under which you sail, under 
which you fight, under which you gain great riches 
in coins, in golden bars, and in fine goods fit for kings 
and queens ! ” 

As he spoke, every rascal raised his eyes aloft, and 
there, sure enough, floated the black flag with the 
skull and bones, the terrible “Jolly Boger” of the 
Spanish Main, and which Bonnet himself had hoisted 
before he called together his crew. 

38 


ON THE QUARTER-DECK 

For the most part the men were astounded, and 
looked blankly one upon another. They knew they 
had been shipped to sail upon some illegal cruise, 
and that they were to be paid high wages by the 
wealthy Bonnet ; but that this worthy farmer should 
be their pirate captain had never entered their minds, 
they naturally supposing that their future commander 
would not care to show himself at Barbados, and that 
he would be taken on board at some other port. 

As for Big Sam, he was more than astounded— he 
was stupefied. He had well known the character of 
the ship from the time that Bonnet had taken him 
into his service, and he it was who had mainly man- 
aged the fitting up of the vessel and the shipping of 
her crew. He did not know whom Bonnet intended 
to command the ship, but from the very beginning 
he had intended to command her himself. 

But he had been too late. He had not gone among 
the men as he had expected to do soon after setting 
sail, and here this country bumpkin had taken the 
wind out of his sails and had boldly announced that 
he himself was the captain of the pirate ship Revenge . 

The men now began to talk among themselves ; and 
as Bonnet still stood, his sword clutched in his hand 
and his chest heaving with the excitement of his own 
speech, there arose from the crew a cheer. Some of 
them had known a little about Stede Bonnet, and some 
of them scarcely anything at all, except that he was 
able to pay them good wages. How he had told them 
that he was a pirate captain, and each of them knew 
that he himself was a pirate, or was waiting for the 
chance to become one. 

And so they cheered, and their captain’s chest 
39 


KATE BONNET 


heaved higher, and the soul of the luckless Big Sam 
collapsed, for he knew that after that cheer there was 
no chance for him ; at least, not now. 

“Now go, my boys,” shouted Bonnet, “back to your 
places, every one of you, and fall to your duty; and 
in honor of that black flag which floats above you 
each one of you shall drink a glass of grog.” 

With another shout the crew hurried forward, and 
Stede Bonnet stood upon the quarter-deck, the pirate 
captain of the pirate ship Revenge. 

And now stepped up to his master that good Pres- 
byterian Ben Greenway. 

“An* ye call yoursel’ a pirate, sir f ” said he. “An’ ye 
go forth upon the sea to murder an 7 to rob an’ to pre- 
pare your soul for hell ? ” 

Mr. Bonnet winked a little. 

“You speak strongly, Ben,” said he, “but that might 
have been expected from a man of your fashion of 
thinking. But let me tell you again, my good Ben 
Greenway, that I was no party to your being on this 
vessel. Even now, when my soul swells within me 
with the pride of knowing that I am a sovereign of 
the seas and that I owe no allegiance to any man or 
any government, and that my will is my law and is 
the law of every man upon this vessel— even now, 
Ben Greenway, it grieves me to know that you are 
here with me. But the first chance I get I shall set 
you ashore and have you sent home. Thou art not 
cut out for a pirate, and as no other canst thou sail 
with me.” 

Ben Greenway looked at him steadfastly. 

“Master Stede Bonnet,” said he, “ye are no more 
fit to be a bloody pirate than I am. Ye oversee your 
40 


ON THE QUARTER-DECK 

plantation weel, although I hae often been persuaded 
that ye knew no’ as much as ye think ye do. Ye pro- 
vide weel for your family, although ye tak’ no’ the 
pleasure therein ye might hae ta’en had ye been con- 
tent wi’ ane wife, as the Holy Scriptures tell us is 
enough for ony mon, an’ ye hae sufficient judgment 
to tak’ the advice o’ a judgmatical mon about your 
lands an’ your herds ; but when it comes to your ca’in’ 
yoursel’ a pirate captain, it is enough to make a de- 
ceased person chuckle by the absurdity o’ it.” 

“Ben Greenway,” exclaimed Major Bonnet, “I 
don’t like your manner of speech.” 

“O’ course ye don’t,” cried Ben ; “an’ I didna ex- 
pect ye to like it ; but it is the solemn truth, for a’ that.” 

“I don’t want any of your solemn truths,” said 
Bonnet, “and as soon as I get a chance I am going to 
send you home to your barn-yard and your cows.” 

“Ho’ so fast, Master Bonnet, no’ so fast,” answered 
Ben. “I hae ta’en care o’ ye for mony years ; I hae 
kept ye out o’ mony a bad scrape both in buyin’ an’ 
sellin’, an’ I am sure ye never wanted takin’ care o’ 
mair than ye do now ; an’ I’m just here to tell ye that 
I am no’ goin’ back to Barbados till ye do, an’ that 
I am goin’ to stand by ye through your bad luck an’ 
through your good luck, in your sin an’ in your re- 
pentance.” 

“Ben Greenway,” cried Captain Bonnet, as he waved 
his sword in the air, “if you talk to me like that I 
will cut you down where you stand ! You forget that 
you are not talking to a country gentleman, but to a 
pirate— a pirate of the seas ! ” 

Ben grinned, but, seeing the temper his master was 
in, thought it wise to retire. 

41 


CHAPTER Y 


AN UNSUCCESSFUL ERRAND 

For what seemed a very long time to Kate Bonnet, 
Hickory Charter paddled bravely through the dark- 
ness. She was relieved of the terror and the uncer- 
tainty which had fallen upon her during the past few 
hours, and she was grateful to the brave young fellow 
who had delivered her from the danger of sailing out 
Upon the sea with a crew of wicked scoundrels who 
were about to steal her father’s ship, and her heart 
should have beaten high with gratitude and joy ; but 
it did not. She was very cold, and she knew not 
whither young Hickory was taking her. She did not 
believe that in all that darkness he could possibly 
know where he was going ; at any moment that dread- 
ful ship might loom up before them, and lights might 
be flashed down upon them. But all of a sudden the 
canoe scraped, grounded, and stopped. 

“What is that? ” she cried. 

“It is our beach,” said Hickory, and almost at that 
moment there came a call from the darkness beyond. 

“Hickory ! ” cried a woman’s voice, “is that you? ” 

“It is my mother,” said the boy; “she has heard 
the scraping of my keel.” 


42 


AN UNSUCCESSFUL ERRAND 


Then he shouted back, “It is Dickory ; please show 
me a light, mother ! ” 

Jumping out, Dickory pulled the canoe high up 
the shelving shore, and then he helped Kate to get 
out. It was not an easy job, for she could see nothing 
and floundered terribly $ but he seemed to like it, and 
half led, half carried her over a considerable space of 
uneven ground, until he came to the door of a small 
house, where stood an elderly woman with a lantern. 

“Dickory, Dickory ! ” shouted the woman, “what 
is that you are bringing home? Is it a great fish? ” 

• “It is a young woman,” said the boy, “but she is as 
wet as a fish.” 

“Woman!” cried good Dame Charter. “What 
mean you, Dickory? Is she dead? ” 

“Kot dead, Mother Charter,” said Kate, who now 
stood, unassisted, in the light of the lantern, “but in 
woful case, and more like to startle you than if I 
were the biggest fish. I am Mistress Kate Bonnet, 
just out of the river between here and the town. Ko, 
I will not enter your house ; I am not fit ; I will stand 
here and tell my tale.” 

“Dickory !” shouted Dame Charter, “take the lan- 
tern and run to the kitchen cabin, where ye’ll make 
a fire quickly.” 

Away ran Dickory, and, standing in the darkness, 
Kate Bonnet told her tale. It was not a very satis- 
factory tale, for there was a great part of it which 
Kate herself did not understand ; but it sufficed at 
present for the good dame, who had known the girl 
when she was small, and who was soon busily engaged 
in warming her by her fire, refreshing her with food, 
and in fortifying her against the effects of her cold 
43 


KATE BONNET 


bath by a generous glass of rum, made, the good 
woman earnestly asserted, from sugar-cane grown on 
Master Bonnet’s plantation. 

Early the next morning came Dickory from the 
kitchen, where he had made a fire (before that he 
had been catching some fish), and on a rude bench by 
the house door he saw Kate Bonnet. When he per- 
ceived her he laughed ; but as she also laughed, it 
was plain she was not offended. 

This pretty girl was dressed in a large blue gown 
belonging to the stout Dame Charter, and which was 
quite as much of a gown as she had any possible need 
for. Her head was bare, for she had lost her hat, and 
she wore neither shoes nor stockings, those articles oi 
apparel having been so shrunken by immersion as to 
make it impossible for her to get them on. 

“Thy mother is a good woman,” said Kate, “and I 
am so glad you did not take me to the town. I don’t 
wonder you gaze at me ; I must look like a fright.” 

Dickory made no answer, but by the way in which 
he regarded her she knew that he saw nothing fright- 
ful in her face. 

“You have been very good to me,” said she, rising 
and making a step toward him, but suddenly stopping 
on account of her bare feet, “and I wish I could tell 
you how thankful I am to you. Y ou are truly a brave 
boy, Dickory— the bravest I have ever known.” 

His brows contracted. “Why do you call me a 
boy?” he interrupted. “I am nineteen years old, 
and you are not much more than that.” 

She laughed, and her white teeth made him ready 
to fall down and worship her. 

“You have done as much,” said she, “as any man 
could do, and more.” 


44 


AN UNSUCCESSFUL ERRAND 


Then she held out her hand, and he came and 
took it. 

“ Truly you are a man,” she said ; and looking stead- 
fastly into his face, she added, “How very, very much 
I owe you ! ” 

He didn’t say anything at all, this Dickory ; just 
stood and looked at her. As many a one has been 
before, he was more grateful for the danger out of 
which he had plucked the fair young woman than she 
was thankful for the deliverance. 

Just then Dame Charter called them to breakfast. 
When they were at the table, they talked of what 
was to be done next ; and as, above everything else, 
Miss Kate desired to know where her father was and 
why he hadn’t come aboard the Sarah Williams , Dick- 
ory offered to go to the town for news. 

“I hate to ask too much, after all you have done,” 
said the girl, “but after you have seen my father and 
told him everything,— for he must be in sore trouble, 
—would you mind rowing to our house and bringing 
me some clothes? Madam Bonnet will understand 
what I need ; and she too will want to know what has 
become of me.” 

“Of course I will do that,” cried Dickory, grateful 
for the chance to do her service. 

“And if you happen to see Master Hewcombe in 
the town, will you tell him where I am ? ” 

How Dickory gave no signs of gratitude for a chance 
to do her service, but his mother spoke quickly 
enough. 

“Of course he will tell Master Hewcombe,” said she, 
“and anybody else you wish should know.” 

In ten minutes Dickory was in his canoe, paddling 
to the town. When he was out of the little inlet on 
45 


KATE BONNET 


the shore of which lay his mother’s cottage, he looked 
far up and down the broad river, but he could see 
nothing of the good ship Sarah Williams. 

“I am glad they have gone,” said Dickory to him- 
self, “and may they never come back again. It is 
a pity that Major Bonnet should lose his ship, but, as 
things have turned out, it is better for him to lose it 
than to have it.” 

When he had fastened his canoe to a little pier in 
the town with a rope which he borrowed, having now 
none of his own, Dickory soon heard strange news. 
The man who owned the rope told him that Major 
Bonnet had gone off in his vessel, which had sailed 
out of the harbor in the night, showing no light. 
And although many people had talked of this strange 
proceeding, nobody knew whether he had gone of his 
own free will or against it. 

“Of course it was against his will ! ” cried Dickory. 
“The ship was stolen, and they have stolen him with 
it. The wretches ! The beasts ! ” And then he went 
up into the town. 

Some men were talking at the door of a baker’s 
shop, and the baker himself, a stout young man, came 
out. 

“Oh, yes,” said he ; “we know now what it means. 
The good Major Bonnet has gone off pirating ; he 
thinks he can make more money that way than by 
attending to his plantation. The townspeople sus- 
pected him last night, and now they know what he is.” 

At this moment Master Dickory jumped upon the 
baker, and both went down. When Dickory got up, 
the baker remained where he was, and it was plain 
enough to everybody that the nerves and muscles of 
46 


AN UNSUCCESSFUL ERRAND 


even a vigorous young man were greatly weakened 
by the confined occupation of a baker. 

Dickory now went farther to ask more, and he 
soon heard enough. The respectable Major Bonnet 
had gone away in his own ship with a savage crew 
far beyond the needs of the vessel, and if he had not 
gone pirating, what had he gone for? And to this 
question Dickory replied every time : “He went be- 
cause he was taken away.” He would not give up his 
faith in Kate Bonnet’s father. 

“And Greenway,” the people said — “why should 
they take him? He is of no good on a ship.” 

On this, Dickory’s heart fell further. He had been 
troubled about the Scotchman, but had tried not to 
think of him. 

“The scoundrels have stolen them both, with the 
vessel,” he said ; and as he spoke his soul rose upward 
at the thought of what he had done for Kate ; and 
as that had been done, what mattered it, after all, what 
had happened to other people ? 

Five minutes afterwards a man came running 
through the town with the news that old Bonnet’s 
daughter, Miss Kate, had also gone away in the ship. 
She was not at home ; she was not in the town. 

“That settles it!” said some people. “The black- 
hearted rascal ! He has gone of his own accord, and 
he has taken Greenway and his fair young daughter 
with him.” 

“And what do you think of that? ” said some to the 
doubter Dickory. 

“I don’t believe a word of it ! ” said he ; and not 
wishing on his own responsibility to tell what he 
knew of Mistress Kate Bonnet, he rowed up the river 
47 


KATE BONNET 


toward the Bonnet plantation to carry her message. 
On his way, whom should he see, hurrying along the 
road by the river-bank, coming toward the town and 
looking hot and worried, but Master Martin Hew- 
combe. At the sight of the boat he stopped. 

“Ho, young man !” he cried. “You are from the 
town ; has anything fresh been heard about Major 
Bonnet and his daughter f ” 

How here was the best and easiest opportunity of 
doing the third thing which Kate had asked him to 
do j but his heart did not bound to do it. He sat and 
looked at the man on the river-bank. 

“Don’t you hear me!” cried Hewcombe. “Has 
anybody heard further from the Bonnets ? ” 

Dickory still sat motionless, gazing at Hewcombe. 
He didn’t want to tell this man anything. He didn’t 
want to have anything to do with him. He hesitated, 
but he could not forget the third thing he had been 
asked to do, and who had asked him to do it. What- 
ever happened, he must be loyal to her and her wishes, 
and so he said, with but little animation in his voice, 
“Major Bonnet’s daughter did not go with him.” 

Instantly came a great cry from the shore. “Where 
is she ? Where is she f Come closer to land and tell 
me everything ! ” 

This was too much ! Dickory did not like the tone 
of the man on shore, who had no right to command 
him in that fashion. 

“I have no time to stop now,” said he ; “I am carry- 
ing a message to Madam Bonnet.” 

And so he paddled away, somewhat nearer the 
middle of the river. 

Martin Hewcombe was wild. He ran and he bounded 
48 


AN UNSUCCESSFUL ERRAND 


on his way to the Bonnet house ; he called and he 
shouted to Dickory, but apparently that young 
person was too far away to hear him. When the 
canoe touched the shore, almost at the spot where 
the fair Kate had been fishing with a hook lying in 
the sun, Kewcombe was already there. 

“Tell me!” he cried. “Tell me about Miss Kate 
Bonnet ! What has befallen her? If she did not go 
with her father, where is she now ? ” 

“I have come,” said Dickory, sturdily, as he fastened 
his boat with the borrowed rope, “with a message for 
Madam Bonnet, and I cannot talk with anybody until 
I have delivered it.” 

Madam Bonnet saw the two persons hurrying toward 
her house, and she came out in a fine fury to meet them. 

“Have you heard from my runaway husband,” she 
cried, “and from his daughter? I am ashamed to 
hear news of them, but I suppose I am in duty bound 
to listen.” 

Dickory did not hesitate now to tell what he knew, 
or at least part of it. 

“Your daughter — ” said he. 

“She is not my daughter ! ” cried the lady. “Thank 
Heaven I am spared that disgrace. And from what 
hiding-place does she and her sire send me a message ? ” 

Dickory’s face flushed. 

“I bring no message from a hiding-place,” he said, 
“nor any from your husband. He went to sea in his 
ship. But Mistress Kate Bonnet left the vessel before 
it sailed, and her clothes having been injured by water, 
she sent me for what a young lady in her station might 
need, supposing rightly that you would know what 
that might be.” 


49 


KATE BONNET 


“ Indeed I do ! ” cried Madam Bonnet. “What she 
needs are the clouts of a fish-girl, and a stick to her 
back besides.” 

“Madam ! ” cried Newcombe ; but she heeded him 
not— she was growing more angry. 

“A fine creature she is,” exclaimed the lady, “to 
run away from my house in this fashion, and treat me 
with such contumely, and then to order me to send 
her her fine clothes to deck herself for the eyes of 
strangers ! ” 

“But, young man,” cried Newcombe, “where is she ? 
Tell that without further delay. Where is she ? ” 

“I don’t care where she is ! ” interrupted Madam 
Bonnet. “It matters not to me whether she is in the 
town, or sitting waiting for her finery on the bridge. 
If she didn’t go with her father (cowardly sneak that 
he is !), that gives her less reason to stay away all night 
from her home, and send her orders to me in the 
morning. No ; I will have none of that ! If my hus- 
band’s daughter wants anything of me, let her come 
here and ask for it, first giving me the reason of her 
shameful conduct.” 

“Madam ! ” cried Newcombe, “I cannot listen to 
such speech, such—” 

“Then stop your ears with your thumbs,” she ex- 
claimed, “and you will not hear it.” 

Then, turning to Dickory : “Now go, you, and tell 
the young woman who sent you here she must come 
in sackcloth and ashes, if she can get them, and she 
must tell me her tale and her father’s tale, without a 
lie mixed up in them j and when she has done this, 
and has humbly asked my pardon for the foul affront 
she has put upon me, then it will be time enough to 
talk of fine clothes and fripperies.” 

50 


AN UNSUCCESSFUL ERRAND 


Newcombe now expostulated with much temper; 
but Dickory gave him little chance to speak. 

“I carry no such message as that,” he said. “Do 
you truly mean that you deny the young lady the 
apparel she needs, and that I am to tell her that?” 

“Get away from here ! ” cried Madam Bonnet, with 
her face in a blaze. “I send her no message at all ; 
and if she comes here on her knees, I shall spurn her, 
if it suit me.” 

If Dickory had waited a little he might have heard 
more, but he did not wait ; he quickly turned, and 
away he went toward his boat. And away went Martin 
Newcombe after him. But as the younger man was 
barefooted, the other one could not keep up with him, 
and the canoe was pushed off before he reached the 
water’s edge. 

“Stop, you young rascal ! ” cried Kewcombe. 
“Where is Kate Bonnet? Stop ! and tell me where 
she is ! ” 

Troubled as he was at the tale he was going to tell, 
Dickory laughed aloud, and he paddled down the 
river as few in that region had ever paddled before. 

Madam Bonnet went into her house, and if she had 
met a maid-servant it might have been bad for that 
poor woman. She was not troubled about Kate. She 
knew the young man to be Dickory Charter, and she 
was quite sure that her stepdaughter was in his 
mother’s cottage. Why she happened to be there, 
and what had become of the recreant Bonnet, the 
equally recreant young woman could come and tell 
her whenever she saw fit. 


51 


CHAPTER VI 


A PAIR OF SHOES AND STOCKINGS 

The tide was running down, and Dickory made a 
swift passage to the town. Seeing on the pier the 
man from whom he had borrowed the rope, he stopped 
to return him his property ,* and thinking that the good 
people of the town should know that, no matter what 
had befallen Major Bonnet, his daughter had not gone 
with him and was safe among friends, he mentioned 
these facts to the man, but with very few details, 
being in a hurry to return with his message. 

Before he turned into the inlet, Dickory was called 
from the shore, and, to his surprise, he saw his mother 
standing on the bank in front of a mass of bushes, 
which concealed her from her house. 

“Come here, Dickory,” she said, “and tell me what 
you have heard.” 

Her son told his doleful tale. 

“I fear me, mother,” he said, “that Major Bonnet’s 
ship has gone on some secret and bad business, and 
that he is mixed up in it. Else why did he desert 
his daughter? And if he intended to take her with 
him, that was worse.” 

“I don’t know, Dickory,” said good Dame Charter, 
reflectively j “we must not be too quick to believe 
52 


A PAIR OF SHOES AND STOCKINGS 


harm of our fellow -beings. It does look bad, as the 
townspeople thought, that Major Bonnet should own 
such a ship with such a strange crew ; but he is a man 
who knows his own business, and may have had good 
reason for what he has done. He might have been 
sailing out to some foreign part to bring back a rich 
cargo, and needed stout men to defend it from the 
pirates that he might meet with on the seas.” 

“But his daughter, mother,” said Dickory. “How 
could he have left her as he did ? That was shameful, 
and even you must admit it.” 

“Hot so fast, Dickory,” said she ; “there are other 
ways of looking at things than the way in which we 
look at them. He had intended to take Mistress Kate 
on a little trip ; she told me that herself. And most 
likely, having changed his mind on account of the 
suspicions in the town, he sent word to her to return 
to her home, which message she did not get.” 

Dickory considered. 

“Yes, mother,” he said 5 “it might have been that 
way, but I don’t believe that he went of his own ac- 
cord, and I don’t believe that he would take Ben 
Greenway with him. I think, mother, that they were 
both stolen with the ship.” 

“That might be,” said his mother, “but we have no 
right to take such a view of it, and to impart it to his 
daughter. If he went away of his own accord, every- 
thing will doubtless be made right, and we shall know 
his reasons for what he has done. It is not for us to 
make up our minds that Major Bonnet and good Ben 
Greenway have been carried off by wicked men, for 
this would be sad indeed for that fair girl to believe. 
So remember, Dickory, that it is our duty always to 
53 


KATE BONNET 


think the best of everything. And now I will go 
through the underbrush to the house, and when you 
get there yourself you must tell your story as if you 
had not told it to me.” 

Before Dickory had reached his mother’s cottage 
Mistress Kate Bonnet came running to meet him, and 
she did not seem to be the same girl he had left that 
morning. Her clothes had been dried and smoothed $ 
even her hat, which had been found in the boat, had 
been made shapely and wearable, and its ribbons 
floated in the breeze. Dickory glanced at her feet, 
and as he did so a thrill of strange delight ran through 
him. He saw his own Sunday shoes, with silver 
buckles, and he caught a glimpse of a pair of brown 
stockings which he knew went always with those 
shoes. 

“I am quite myself again,” she said, noticing his 
wide eyes, “and your mother has been good enough 
to lend me a pair of your shoes and stockings. Mine 
are so utterly ruined, and I could not walk bare- 
footed.” 

Dickory was so filled with pride that this fair being 
could wear his shoes, and that she was wearing them, 
that he could only mumble some stupid words about 
being so glad to serve her. And she, wise girl, said 
nothing about the quantities of soft cotton-wool which 
Dame Charter had been obliged to stuff into the toes 
before they would stay upon the small feet they 
covered. 

“But my father!” cried Kate. “What of him? 
Where is he ? ” 

Now Dame Charter was with them, her eyes hard 
fixed upon her son. 


54 


A PAIR OF SHOES AND STOCKINGS 


Dickory, mindful of those eyes, told her what he 
had to tell, saying as little as possible about Major 
Bonnet, — because, of course, all that he knew about 
him was mere hearsay,— but dilating with much vigor 
upon the shameful conduct of Madam Bonnet ; for the 
young lady ought surely to know what sort of a 
woman her father’s wife really was, and what she 
might expect if she should return to her house. He 
could have said even more about the interview with 
the angry woman, but his mother’s eyes were upon 
him. 

Kate heard everything without a word, and then 
she burst into tears. 

“My father,” she sobbed, “carried away or gone 
away, and one is as bad as the other ! ” 

“Dickory,” said Dame Charter, “go cut some wood ; 
there is none ready for the kitchen.” 

Dickory went away, not sorry, for he did not know 
how to deport himself with a young lady whose heart 
was so sorely tried. He might have discovered a 
way if he had been allowed to do so $ but that would 
not have been possible with his mother present. But, 
in spite of her sorrow, his heart sang to him that she 
was wearing his shoes and stockings ! Then he cheer- 
fully brought down his axe upon the wood for the 
dinner’s cooking. 

Dame Charter led the weeping girl to the bench, 
and they talked long together. There was no optimist 
in all the British colonies, nor for that matter in those 
belonging to France or Spain, or even to the Dutch, 
who was a more conscientious follower of her creed 
than Dame Charter. She sat by Kate and she talked 
to her until the girl stopped sobbing and began to see 
55 


KATE BONNET 


for herself that her father knew his own business, and 
that he had most certainly sent her a message to go 
on shore, which had not been delivered. 

As to poor Ben Greenway, the good woman was 
greatly relieved that her son had not mentioned him, 
and she took care not to do it herself. She did not 
wish to strain her optimism. Kate, having so much 
else upon her mind, never thought of this good man. 

When Dickory came back, he first looked to see if 
Kate still wore his shoes and stockings, and then he 
began to ask what there was that he might now do. 
He would go again to the town if he might be of use. 
But Kate had no errand for him there. Dickory had 
told her how he had been with Master Hewcombe at 
her home, and therefore there was no need of her send- 
ing him another message. 

“I dou’t know where to go or where to send,” she 
said simply $ “I am lost, and that is all of it.” 

“Oh, no,” cried Dame Charter, “not that ! You are 
with good friends, and here you can stay just as long 
as you like.” 

“Indeed she can ! ” said Dickory, as if he were 
making a response in church. 

His mother looked at him and said nothing. And 
then she took Kate out into a little grove behind the 
house to see if she could find some ripe oranges. 

It was a fair property, although not large, which 
belonged to the Widow Charter. Her husband had 
been a thriving man, although a little inclined to 
speculations in trade which were entirely out of his 
line, and when he met his death in the sea he left her 
nothing but her home and some inconsiderable land 
about it. Dickory had been going to a grammar- 
school in the town, and was considered a fair scholar ; 

56 


A PAIR OF SHOES AND STOCKINGS 


but with his father’s death all that stopped, and the 
boy was obliged to go to work to do what he could 
for his mother. And, ever since, he had been doing 
what he could, without regard to appearances, think- 
ing only of the money. 

But on Sunday, when he rowed his mother to 
church, he wore good clothes, being especially proud 
of his buckled shoes and his long brown hose, which 
were always of good quality. 

They were eating dinner when oars were heard on 
the river, and in a moment a boat swung around into 
the inlet. In the stern sat Master Martin Newcombe, 
and two men were rowing. 

Now Dickory Charter swore in his heart, although 
he was not accustomed to any sort of blasphemy $ and 
as Miss Kate gazed eagerly through the open window, 
our young friend narrowly scrutinized her face to see 
if she were glad or not. She was glad,— that was 
plain enough,— and he went out sullenly to receive 
the arriving interloper. 

When they were all standing on the shore, Kate 
did not think it worth while to ask Master Newcombe 
how he happened to know where she was. But the 
young man waited for no questions ; he went on to 
tell his story. When he related that it was a man 
fishing on a pier who had told him that young Mis- 
tress Kate Bonnet was stopping with Dame Charter, 
Kate wondered greatly, for as Dickory had met Master 
Newcombe, what need had there been for the latter 
to ask questions about her of a stranger? But she 
said nothing. And Dickory growled in his soul that 
he had ever spoken to the man on the pier, except to 
thank him for the rope he had borrowed. 

Martin Newcombe’s story went on, and he told 
57 


KATE BONNET 


that, having been extremely angered by the conduct 
and words of Madam Bonnet, he had gone into the 
town and made inquiries, hoping to hear something 
of the whereabouts of Mistress Kate. And having 
done so' by means of the very obliging person on the 
pier, he had determined that the daughter of Major 
Bonnet should have her rights ) and he had gone to 
his own lawyer, who assured him that, being a person 
of recognized respectability, possessing property, he 
was fully authorized, knowing the wishes of Mistress 
Kate Bonnet, to go to her stepmother and demand 
that those wishes be complied with ; and if this very 
reasonable request should be denied, then the lawyer 
would take up the matter himself, and would see to 
it that reasonable raiment and the necessities of a 
young lady should not be withheld from her. 

With these instructions, Kewcombe had gone to 
Madam Bonnet, and had found that much-disturbed 
lady in a state of partial collapse, which had followed 
her passion of the morning. And she had declared 
that nothing in the world would please her better 
than to get rid of her husband’s daughter and never 
see her again. And if the creature needed clothes or 
anything else which belonged to her, a maid should 
pack them up, and anybody who pleased might take 
them to any place, provided she heard no more about 
them or their owner. 

In all this she spoke most truthfully, for she hated 
her stepdaughter, both because she was a fine young 
woman and much regarded by her father, and because 
she had certain rights to the estate of said father 
which his present wife did not wish to recognize or 
even to think about. So Martin Kewcombe was per- 
58 


A PAIR OF SHOES AND STOCKINGS 


fectly welcome to take away such things as would 
render it unnecessary for the girl to now return to 
the home in which she had been born. Martin had 
brought the box, and here he was. 

It was not long before Keweombe and the lady of 
his love were walking away through the little plan- 
tation, in order that they might speak by themselves. 
Dickory looked after them and frowned, but he bravely 
comforted himself by thinking that he had been the 
one into whose arms she had dropped, through the 
blackness of the night and the blackness of the water, 
knowing in her heart that he would be there ready 
for her, and also by the thought that it was his shoes 
and stockings that she wore. Dame Charter saw this 
frown on her son’s face, but she did not guess the 
thoughts which were in his mind. 


59 


CHAPTER VII 

KATE PLANS 

It was nearly an hour before Kate and Master Kew- 
combe returned, and when they came back they did 
not look happy. Dickory observed their sad visages, 
but the sight did not make him sad. Kate took Dame 
Charter by the hand and led her to the bench. 

“You have been so kind to me,” she said, “that I 
have almost come to look upon you as a mother, even 
though I have known you such a little while, and I 
want to tell you what I have been talking about, and 
what I think I am going to do.” 

Master Newcombe now stood by, and Dickory also. 
His mother was not quite sure that this was the right 
place for him, but as he had already done so much for 
the young lady, there was, perhaps, no reason why he 
should be debarred from hearing what she had to say. 

“This gentleman,” said Kate, indicating Martin 
Kewcombe, “sympathizes with me very greatly in my 
present unfortunate position, — having no home to 
which I can go, and having no relative belonging to 
this island but my father, who is sailing upon the seas, 
I know not where, —and therefore, in his great kind- 
ness, has offered to marry me and to take me to his 
60 


KATE PLANS 


home, which thereafter would be my home, and in 
which I should have all comforts and rights.” 

Now Dickory’s face was like the sky before a shower. 
His mother saw it out of the corner of her eye, but 
the others did not look at him. 

“This was very kind and very good,” continued 
Kate. 

“Not at all, not at all,” interrupted Master New- 
combe, “except that it was kind and good to myself; 
for there is nothing in this world which you need and 
want as much as I need and want you.” 

At this Dickory’s brow grew darker. 

“I believe all you say,” said Kate, “for I am sure 
you are an honest and a true man ; but, as I told you, 
I cannot marry you ; for, even had I made up my 
mind on the subject, which I have not, I could not 
marry any one at such a time as this, not knowing my 
father’s will upon the subject, or where he is.” 

The sun broke out on Dickory’s countenance with- 
out a shower. His mother noticed the change. 

“But as I must do something,” Kate went on, “a 
plan came to me while Master Newcombe was talking 
to me, and I have been thinking of it ever since, and 
now, as I speak, I am becoming fully determined in 
regard to it ,* that is, if I can carry it out. It often 
happens,” she said, with a faint smile, “that when 
people ask advice they become more and more 
strengthened in their own opinion. My opinion, and 
I may say my plan, is this. When my father told me 
he was going away in his ship, he agreed to take me 
with him on a little voyage, leaving me with my 
mother’s brother at the island of Jamaica, not far 
from Spanish Town. In purposing this, he thought, 
61 


KATE BONNET 


no doubt, that it would be far better for me to be 
with my own blood, if his voyage should be long, 
rather than to live with one who is no relative of 
mine, and does not wish to act like one. This, then, 
being my father’s intention, which he was prevented, 
by reasons which I know not of, from carrying out, I 
shall carry it out myself with all possible despatch, 
and go to my uncle in Jamaica by the earliest vessel 
which sails from this port. Not only as this is my 
natural refuge in my trouble, but as my father in- 
tended to go there when he thought of having me 
with him, it may be a part of his plan to go there any- 
way, even though I be not with him ; and so I may 
see him, and all may be well.” 

Clouds now settled heavily on the faces of each of 
the young men, and even the ordinarily bright sky of 
Dame Charter became somewhat overcast— although, 
in her heart, she did not believe that anybody in 
this world could have devised a better plan, under 
the circumstances, than this forsaken Mistress Kate 
Bonnet. 

“Now there is my plan,” said Kate, with something 
of cheerfulness in her voice, “if so be I can carry it 
out. Do either of you know,” glancing at the young 
men impartially, but apparently not noticing the bad 
weather, “if in a reasonable time a vessel will leave 
here for Jamaica? ” 

Dickory knew well, but he would not answer ; Kate 
had no right to put such a thing upon him. New- 
combe, however, did not hesitate. “It is very hard 
for me to say,” he made reply, “but there is a mer- 
chantman, the King and Queen , which sails from here 
in three days for Jamaica. I know this, for I send 
62 


KATE PLANS 


some goods. And I wish, Mistress Bonnet, that I conld 
say something against your sailing in her, but I 
cannot ; for, since you will not let me take care of you, 
your uncle is surely the best one in the world to do 
it ; and as to the vessel, I know she is a safe one.” 

“But you could not go sailing away in any vessel 
by yourself,” cried Dame Charter, “no matter how 
safe she may be.” 

“Oh, no ! ” cried Kate. “And the more we talk about 
our plan the more fully it reveals itself to me in all 
its various parts. I am going to ask you to go with 
me, my dear Dame Charter ” ; and as she spoke she 
seized both of the hands of the other. “I have funds 
of my own which are invested in the town, and I can 
afford the expense. Surely, my good friend, you will 
not let me go forth alone and all unused to travel? 
Leaving me safely with my uncle, you could return 
when the ship came back to Bridgetown.” 

Dame Charter turned upon the girl a look of kind 
compassion, but at the same time she knit her brows. 

“Right glad would I be to do that for you,” she 
said, “but I cannot go away and leave my son, who 
has only me.” 

“Take him with you ! ” cried Kate. “Two women 
travelling to unknown shores might readily need a 
protector, and, if not, there are so many things which 
he might do. Think of it, my dear Dame Charter $ 
to my uncle’s home in Jamaica is the only place to 
which I can go, and if you do not go with me, how 
can I go there ? ” 

Dame Charter now shed tears ; but they were the 
tears of one good woman feeling for the misfortunes 
of another. 


63 


KATE BONNET 


“I will go with you, my dear young lady,” she 
said, “and I will not leave you until you are in your 
uncle’s care. And as to my boy here—” 

JSTow Dickory spoke from out of the blazing noon- 
tide of his countenance. 

“Oh, I will go ! ” he cried. “I do so greatly want 
to see Jamaica ! ” 

Without being noticed, his mother took him by the 
hand ; she did not know what he might be tempted 
to say next. 

Master Kewcombe stood very doleful. And well he 
might j for if his lady-love went away in this fashion, 
there was good reason to suppose that he might never 
see her again. But Kate said no word to comfort him, 
—for how could she in this company? — and began to 
talk rapidly about her preparations. 

“I suppose until the ship shall sail I may stay with 
you ? ” addressing Dame Charter. 

“Stay here?” exclaimed the good dame. “Of 
course you can stay here. We are like one family 
now, and we will all go on board ship together.” 

Kate walked to the boat with Master Kewcombe, he 
having offered to undertake her business in town and 
at her father’s house, and to see the owners of the 
King and Queen in regard to passage. 

Dickory stood radiant, speaking to no one. Master 
Martin Kewcombe was the lover of Mistress Kate 
Bonnet, but he, Dickory, was going with her to 
Jamaica ! 

The following days fled rapidly. Long-visaged 
Martin Kewcombe, whose labors in behalf of his lady 
were truly labors of love, as their object was to help 
her to go where his eyes could no longer feast upon 
64 


KATE PLANS 


her, and from which place her voice would no longer 
reach him, went, with a bitter taste in his mouth, to 
visit Madam Bonnet, to endeavor to persuade her to 
deliver to her stepdaughter such further belongings 
as that young lady was in need of. 

That forsaken person was found to be only too glad 
to comply with this request, hoping earnestly that 
neither the property nor its owner should ever again 
be seen by her. She was in high spirits, believing 
that she was a much better manager of the plantation 
than her eccentric husband had ever been, and she 
had already engaged a man to take the place of Ben 
Greenway, who had been a sore trouble to her these 
many years. She was buoyed up and cheered by the 
belief that the changes she was making would be 
permanent, and that she would live and die the owner 
of the plantation. She alone, in all Bridgetown and 
vicinity, had no doubts whatever in regard to her 
husband’s sailing from Barbados in his own ship and 
with a redundancy of rascality below its decks. The 
respectability and good reputation of Major Bonnet 
did not blind her eyes. She had heard him talk 
about the humdrum life on shore and the reckless 
glories of the brave buccaneers, but she had never 
replied to these remarks, fearing that she might feel 
obliged to object to them ; and she did not tell him 
how, in late years, she had heard him talk in his sleep 
about standing, with brandished sword, on the deck 
of a pirate ship. It was her dream that his dreams 
might all come true. 

So Kate’s baggage was put on board the King and 
Queen , a very humble vessel considering her sounding 
name, and Dame Charter’s few belongings were con- 
65 


KATE BONNET 


veyed to the vessel in Dickory’s canoe, the cottage 
being left in charge of a poor and well-pleased 
neighbor. 

When the day came for sailing, onr friends, with 
not a few of the townspeople, were gathered upon the 
deck, where Kate at first looked about for Dickory, 
not recognizing at the moment the well-dressed young 
fellow who had taken his place. His Sunday costume 
became him well, and he was so bravely decked out 
in the matter of shoes and stockings that Kate did not 
recognize him. 

To every one Mistress Kate Bonnet made clear that 
she was going to her uncle’s house in Jamaica, where 
she expected to meet her father $ and many were the 
good wishes bestowed upon her. When the time drew 
near when the anchor should be heaved, Kate with- 
drew to one side with Master Newcombe. “ You must 
believe,” said she, kindly, “that everything between 
us is just as it was when we used to sit on the shady 
bank and look out over the ripples of the river. 
There will be waves instead of ripples for us to look 
over now, but there will be no change either the one 
way or the other.” 

Then they shook hands fervently ; more than that 
would have been unwarrantable. 

The King and Queen dropped down the stream, and 
Master Kewcombe stood sadly on the pier, while Kate 
Bonnet waved her handkerchief to him and to her 
friends. Dame Charter sat and smiled at the town 
she was leaving and at the long stretches of the river 
before her. She knew not to what future she was 
going, but her heart was uplfted at the thought that 
a new life was opening before her son. In her little 
66 


KATE PLANS 


cottage and in her little fields there was no future for 
him, and now to what future might he not be sailing ! 

As for Dickory, he knew no more of his future than 
the sea-birds knew what was going to happen to them ; 
he cared no more for his future than the clouds cared 
whether they were moving east or west. His life 
was like the sparkling air in which he moved and 
breathed. He stood upon the deck of the vessel, 
with the wind filling the sails above, while at a little 
distance stood Kate Bonnet, her ribbons floating in 
the breeze. He would have been glad to sing aloud, 
but he knew that that would not be proper in the 
presence of the ladies and the captain. And so he let 
his heart do his singing, which was not heard, except 
by himself. 


67 


CHAPTER VIII 


BEN GEEENWAY IS CONVINCED THAT 
BONNET IS A PIBATE 

“But how in the name o’ common sense did ye ever 
think o’ becomin’ a pirate, Master Bonnet?” said Ben 
Greenway, as they stood together. “Ye’re so little 
fitted for a wicked life.” 

“Out upon you, Ben Greenway ! ” exclaimed the 
captain, beginning to stride up and down the little 
quarter-deck. “I will let you know that when the 
time comes for it, I can be as wicked as anybody.” 

“I doubt that,” said Ben, sturdily. “Would ye cut 
down an’ murder the innocent ? W ould ye drive them 
upon an unsteady plank an’ make them walk into the 
sea? Could ye raise thy great sword upon the widow 
an’ the orphan?” 

“Ho more of this disloyal speech,” shouted Bonnet, 
“or I will put you upon a wavering plank and make 
you walk into the sea ! ” 

How Greenway laughed. 

“An’ if ye did,” he said, “ye would next jump upon 
the plank yoursel’ an’ slide swiftly into the waves, 
that ye might save your old friend an’ servant, knowin’ 
he canna swim.” 

“Ben Greenway,” said Bonnet, folding his arms and 
68 


BEN CONVINCED BONNET IS A PIRATE 


knitting his brows, “I will not suffer such speech from 
you. I would sooner have on board a Presbyterian 
parson.” 

“An’ a happier fate couldna befall ye,” said Ben, 
“for ye need a parson mair than ony mon I know.” 

Bonnet looked at him for a moment. 

“You think so?” said he. 

“Indeed I do,” said Ben, with unction. 

“There, now,” cried Bonnet, “I told you, Ben, that 
I could be wicked upon occasion, and now you have 
acknowledged it. Upon my word, I can be wickeder 
than common, as you shall see when good fortune 
helps us to overhaul a prize.” 

The Revenge had been at sea for about a week, and 
all had gone well, except she had taken no prizes. 
The crew had been obedient and fairly orderly, and 
if they made fun of their farmer-captain behind his 
back, they showed no disrespect when his eyes were 
upon them. The fact was that the most of them had 
a very great respect for him as the capitalist of the 
ship’s company. 

Big Sam had early begun to sound the temper of 
the men, but they had not cared to listen to him. 
Good fare they had and generous treatment, and the 
less they thought of Bonnet as a navigator and com- 
mander, the more they thought of his promises of rich 
spoils to be fairly divided with them when they 
should capture a Spanish galleon or any well-laden 
merchantman bound for the marts of Europe. In 
fact, when such good luck should befall them, they 
would greatly prefer to find themselves serving under 
Bonnet than under Big Sam. The latter was known 
as a greedy scoundrel who would take much and 
69 


KATE BONNET 


give little, being inclined, moreover, to cheat his ship- 
mates out of even that little if the chance came to 
him. Even Black Paul, who was an old comrade of 
Big Sam,— the two having done much wickedness 
together,— paid no heed to his present treasons. 

“Let the old fool alone,” he said. “We fare well, 
and our lives are easy, having three men to do the 
work of one. So say I, let us sail on and make merry 
with his good rum ; his money-chest is heavy yet.” 

“That's what I’m thinking of,” said the sailing- 
master. “Why should I be coursing about here look- 
ing for prizes, with that chest within reach of my very 
arm whenever I choose it ? ” 

Black Paul grinned and said to himself : “It is your 
arm, old Sam, that I am afraid of.” Then, aloud : “No ; 
let him go. Let us profit by our good treatment as 
long as it lasts, and then we will talk about the money- 
box.” 

Thus Big Sam found that his time had not arrived, 
and he swore in his soul that his old shipmate would 
some day rue that he had not earlier stood by him in 
his treacherous schemes. 

So all went on without open discontent, and Bonnet, 
having sailed northward for some days, set his course 
to the southeast, with some hundred and fifty eyes 
wide open for the sight of a heavy-sailing mer- 
chantman. 

One morning they sighted a brig sailing southward ; 
but as she was of no great size and not going in the 
right direction to make it probable that she carried a 
cargo worth their while, they turned westward and 
ran toward Cuba. Had Captain Bonnet known that 
his daughter was on the brig which he thus disdained, 
70 


BEN CONVINCED BONNET IS A PIRATE 


his mind would have been far different ; but as it was, 
not knowing anything more than he could see, and 
not understanding much of that, he kept his westerly 
course, and on the next day the lookout sighted a 
good-sized merchantman bearing eastward. 

Now bounded every heart upon the swiftly coursing 
vessel of the planter-pirate. There were men there 
who had shared in the taking of many a prize,— who 
had shared in the blood and the cruelty and the booty, 
—and their brawny forms trembled with the old ex- 
citement of the sea-chase ; but no man’s blood ran 
more swiftly, no man’s eyes glared more fiercely, than 
those of Captain Bonnet as he strapped on his pistols 
and felt of his sword-hilt. 

“ Ah, ye needna glare so 1 ” said Ben Greenway, 
close at his side. “Ye are no pirate, an’ ye canna 
make yoursel’ believe ye are ane, an’ that ye shall see 
when the guns begin to roar an’ the sword-blades 
flash. Better get below an’ let ane o’ these hairy 
scoundrels descend into hell in your place.” 

Captain Bonnet turned with rage upon Ben Green- 
way ; but the latter, having spoken his mind and given 
his advice, had retired. 

Now came Big Sam. “’Tis an English brig,” he 
said, “most likely from Jamaica, homeward bound; 
she should be a good prize.” 

Bonnet winced a little at this. He would have pre- 
ferred to begin his career of piracy by capturing some 
foreign vessel, leaving English prizes for the future, 
when he should have become better used to his new 
employment. But sensitiveness does not do for pi- 
rates, and in a moment he had recovered himself and 
was as bold and bloody-minded as he had been when 
71 


KATE BONNET 


he first saw the now rapidly approaching vessel. All 
nations were alike to him now, and he belonged to 
none. 

“Fire some guns at her / 7 he shouted to Big Sam, 
“and run up the Jolly Boger $ let the rascals see what 
we are . 77 

The rascals saw. Down came their flag, and pres- 
ently their vessel was steered into the wind and 
lay to. 

“Shall we board her ? 77 cried Big Sam. 

“Ay, board her ! 77 shouted back the infuriated 
Bonnet. “Kun the Revenge alongside, get out your 
grappling-irons, and let every man with sword and 
pistols bound upon her deck . 77 

The merchantman now lay without headway, gently 
rolling on the sea. Down came the sails of the Re- 
venge, while her motion grew slower and slower as she 
approached her victim. Had Captain Bonnet been 
truly sailing the Revenge he would have run by with 
sails all set, for not a thought had he for the manage- 
ment of his own vessel, so intent he was upon the cap- 
ture of the other. But fortunately Big Sam knew 
what was necessary to be done in a nautical manoeuvre 
of this kind, and his men did not all stand ready with 
their swords in their hands to bound upon the deck 
of the merchantman. But there were enough of 
Pirate Bonnet’s crew crowded alongside the rail of 
the vessel to inspire terror in any peaceable mer- 
chantman. And this one, although it had several 
carronades and other guns upon her deck, showed no 
disposition to use them, the odds against her being far 
too great. 

At the very head of the long line of ruffians upon 
72 


BEN CONVINCED BONNET IS A PIRATE 


the deck of the Revenge stood Ben Greenway; and 
although he held no sword and wore no pistol, his 
eyes flashed as brightly as any glimmering blade in 
the whole ship’s company. 

The two vessels were now drawing very near to 
each other. Men with grappling-irons stood ready 
to throw them, and the bow of the well-steered pirate 
had almost touched the side of the merchantman, 
when, with a bound of which no one would have 
considered him capable, the good Ben Greenway 
jumped upon the rail and sprang down upon the deck 
of the other vessel. This was a hazardous feat, and 
if the Scotchman had known more about nautical 
matters he would not have essayed it before the two 
vessels had been fastened together. Ignorance made 
him fearless, and he alighted in safety on the deck of 
the merchantman at the very instant when the two 
vessels, having touched, separated themselves from 
each other for the space of a yard or two. 

There was a general shout from the deck of the 
pirate at this performance of Ben Green way. Nobody 
could understand it. Captain Bonnet stood and yelled : 

“What are you about, Ben Greenway? Have you 
gone mad? Without sword or pistol, you’ll be—” 

The astonished Bonnet did not finish his sentence, 
for his power of speech left him when he saw Ben 
Greenway hurry up to the captain of the merchant- 
man, who was standing unarmed, with his crew about 
him, and warmly shake that dumfounded skipper by 
the hand. In their surprise at what they beheld the 
pirates had not thrown their grapnels at the proper 
moment, and now the two vessels had drifted still 
farther apart. 


73 


KATE BONNET 


Presently Ben Greenway came hurrying to the side 
of the merchantman, dragging its captain by the hand. 

“Master Bonnet ! Master Bonnet ! ” he cried, “this 
is your old friend Abner Marchand, o’ our town $ an’ 
this is his good ship the Amanda. I knew her when 
I first caught sight o’ her figurehead, havin’ seen it 
so often at her pier at Bridgetown. An’ so, now that 
ye know wha it is that ye hae inadvertently captured, 
ye may ca’ off your men an’ bid them sheathe their 
frightful cutlasses.” 

At this a roar arose from the pirates, who, having 
thrown some of their grappling-irons over the gun- 
wale of the merchantman, were now pulling hard 
upon them to bring the two vessels together; and 
Captain Bonnet shouted back at Ben : “What are you 
talking about, you drivelling idiot ? Haven’t you told 
Master Marchand that I am a pirate ? ” 

“Indeed I hae no’,” cried Ben, “for I don’t believe 
ye are ane ; at least, no’ to your friends an’ neebors.” 

To this Bonnet made a violent reply, but it was not 
heard. The two vessels had now touched, and the 
crowd of yelling pirates had leaped upon the deck of 
the Amanda. Bonnet was not far behind his men, 
and, sword in hand, he rushed toward the spot where 
stood the merchant captain with his crew huddling 
together behind him. As there was no resistance, 
there was so far no fighting, and the pirates were 
tumbling over each other in their haste to get below 
and find out what sort of a cargo was carried by this 
easy prize. 

Captain Marchand held out his hand. “Good day 
to you, friend Bonnet,” he said. “I had hoped that 
you would be one of the first friends I should meet 
74 


BEN CONVINCED BONNET IS A PIRATE 


when I reached port at Bridgetown, but I little 
thought to meet you before I got there.” 

Bonnet was a little embarrassed by the peculiarity 
of the situation, but his heart was true to his new 
career. 

“ Friend Marchand,” he said, “I see that you do not 
understand the state of affairs, and Ben Greenway 
there should have told you the moment he met you. 
I am no longer a planter of Barbados ; I am a pirate 
of the sea, and the Jolly Roger floats above my ship. 
I belong to no nation $ my hand is against all the 
world. You and your ship have been captured by 
me and my men, and your cargo is my prize. Now 
what have you got on board, where do you hail from, 
and whither are you bound ? ” 

Captain Marchand looked at him fixedly. 

“I sailed from London with a cargo of domestic 
goods for Kingston ; thence, having disposed of most 
of my cargo, I am on my way to Bridgetown, where 
I hope to sell the remainder.” 

“Your goods will never reach Bridgetown !” cried 
Bonnet. “They belong now to my men and me.” 

“What !” cried Ben Greenway. “Ye speak wi’out 
sense or reason. Hae ye forgotten that this is Master 
Abner Marchand, your fellow-vestryman an’ your 
senior warden? An’ to him do ye talk o’ takin’ awa’ 
his goods an’ legal chattels f ” 

Bonnet looked at Greenway with indignation and 
contempt. 

“Now listen to me ! ” he yelled. “To the devil with 
the vestry, and da—” The Scotchman’s eyes and mouth 
were so rounded with horror that Bonnet stopped and 
changed his form of expression : “—confound the sen- 
75 


KATE BONNET 


ior warden ! I am the pirate Bonnet, and regard not 
the Church of England.” 

“Nor your friends?” interpolated Ben. 

“Nor friends, nor any man ! ” shouted Bonnet. 

“Abner Marchand, I am sorry that your vessel 
should be the first one to fall into my power, but that 
has happened, and there is no help for it. My men 
are below ransacking your hold for the goods and 
treasure it may contain. When your cargo, or what 
we want of it, is safe upon my ship, I shall burn your 
vessel, and you and your men must walk the plank.” 

At this dreadful statement, Ben Greenway staggered 
backward in speechless dismay. 

“Yes,” cried Bonnet ; “that shall I do, for there is 
naught else I can do. And then you shall see, you 
doubting Greenway, whether I am a pirate or no.” 

To all this Captain Marchand said not a word. But 
at this moment a woman’s scream was heard from 
below, and then there was another scream from an- 
other woman. Captain Marchand started. 

“Your men have wandered into my cabin,” he ex- 
claimed, “and they have frightened my passengers. 
Shall I go and bring them up, Major Bonnet? They 
will be better here.” 

“Ay, ay ! ” cried the pirate captain, surprised that 
there should be female passengers on board; and 
Marchand, followed by Ben Greenway, disappeared 
below. 

“Confound women passengers ! ” said Bonnet to him- 
self. “That is truly a bit of bad luck.” 

In a few minutes Marchand was back, bringing with 
him a middle-aged and somewhat pudgy woman, very 
pale ; a younger woman of exceeding plainness, and 
76 


BEN CONVINCED BONNET IS A PIRATE 


sobbing steadfastly ; and also an elderly man, evidently 
an invalid, and wearing a long dressing-gown. 

“These / 7 said Captain Marchand, “are Master and 
Madam Ballinger and daughter, of York in England, 
who have been sojourning in Jamaica for the health 
of the gentleman, but are now sailing with me to Bar- 
bados, hoping the air of our good island may be more 
salubrious for the lungs . 77 

Captain Bonnet had never been in the habit of 
speaking loudly before ladies, but he now felt that he 
must stand by his character. 

“You cannot have heard , 77 he almost shouted, “that 
I am the pirate Bonnet, and that your vessel is now 
my prize . 77 

At this the two ladies began to scream vigorously, 
and the form of the gentleman trembled to such a 
degree that his cane beat a tattoo upon the deck. 

“Yes , 77 continued Bonnet ; “when my men have 
stripped this ship of its valuables I shall burn her to 
the water’s edge, and, having removed you to my 
vessel, I shall shortly make you walk the plank . 77 

Here the younger lady began to stiffen herself out 
as if she were about to faint in the arms of Captain 
Marchand, who had suddenly seized her ; but her great 
curiosity to hear more kept her still conscious. Mrs. 
Ballinger grew very red in the face. 

“That cannot be , 77 she cried ; “you may do what 
you please with our belongings and with Captain 
Marchand’s ship, but my husband is too sick a man 
to walk a plank. You have not noticed, perchance, 
that his legs are so feeble that he could scarce mount 
from the cabin to the deck. It would be impossible 
for him to walk a plank. And as for my daughter 
77 


KATE BONNET 


and myself, we know nothing about such a thing, 
and could not, out of sheer ignorance.” 

For a moment a shadow of perplexity fell upon 
Captain Bonnet’s face. He could readily perceive 
that the infirm Mr. Ballinger could not walk a plank, 
or even mount one, unless some one went with him 
to assist him, and as to his wife, she was evidently a 
termagant 5 and having sailed his ship and floated 
his Jolly Roger in order to get rid of one termagant, 
he was greatly annoyed at being brought thus face 
to face with another. He stood for a moment silent. 
The old gentleman looked as if he would like to go 
down to his cabin and cover up his head with his 
blanket until all this commotion should be over ; the 
daughter sobbed as she gazed about her, taking in 
every point of this most novel situation ; and the 
mother, with dilated nostrils, still glared. 

In the midst of all this varying disturbance Captain 
Marchand stood quiet and unmoved, apparently pay- 
ing no attention to any one except his old neighbor 
and fellow- vestryman, Stede Bonnet, upon whose face 
his eyes were steadily fixed. 

Ben Greenway now approached the pirate captain 
and led him aside. 

“Let your men make awa’ wi’ the cargo as they 
please,— I doubt if it be more than odds an’ ends, for 
such are the goods they bring to Bridgetown,— an’ let 
them cast off an’ go their way, an’ ye an’ I will return 
to Bridgetown in the Amanda , an’ a’ may yet be weel, 
this bit o’ folly bein’ forgotten.” 

It might have been supposed that Bonnet would 
have retaliated upon the Scotchman for thus advising 
him, in the very moment of triumph, to give up his 
piratical career and to go home quietly to his plan- 
78 


BEN CONVINCED BONNET IS A PIRATE 


tation, but, instead of that, he paused for a moment’s 
reflection. 

“Ben Greenway,” said he, “there is good sense in 
what you say. In truth, I cannot bring myself to 
put to death my old friend and neighbor and his help- 
less passengers. As for the ship, it will do me no 
more good burned than unburned. And there is an- 
other thing, Ben Greenway, which I would fain do, 
and it just came into my mind. I will write a letter 
to my wife and one to my daughter Kate. There is 
much which I wish them to know and which I have 
not yet been able to communicate. I will allow the 
Amanda to go on her way, and I will send these two 
letters by her captain. They shall be ready presently, 
and you, Ben, stand by these people and see that no 
harm comes to them.” 

At this moment there were loud shouts and laughter 
from below, and Captain Marchand came forward. 

“Friend Bonnet,” he said, “your men have dis- 
covered my store of spirits ; in a short time they will 
be drunk, and it will then be unsafe for these, my 
passengers. Bid them, I pray you, to convey the 
liquors aboard your ship.” 

“Well said ! ” cried Bonnet. “I would not lose 
those spirits.” And, stepping forward, he spoke to 
Big Sam, who had just appeared on deck, and or- 
dered the casks to be conveyed on board the 'Revenge . 

The latter laughed, but said : “Ay, ay, sir ! ” 

Returning to Captain Marchand, Bonnet said : “I 
will now step on board my ship and write some let- 
ters, which I shall ask you to take to Bridgetown 
with you. I shall be ready by the time the rest of 
your cargo is removed.” 

“Oh, don’t do that !” cried Ben. “There is surely 
79 


KATE BONNET 


pen an’ paper here, close to your hand. Go down to 
Captain Marchand’s cabin an’ write your letters.” 

“No, no,” cried Bonnet ; “I have my own conven- 
iences.” And with that he leaped on board the Re- 
venge. 

“That’s a chance gone,” said Ben Green way to Cap- 
tain Marchand, “a good chance gone. If we could 
hae kept him on board here an’ down in your cabin, 
I might hae passed the word to that big miscreant, 
the sailing-master, to cast off an’ get awa’ wi’ that 
wretched crowd. The scoundrels will be glad to steal 
the ship, an’ it will be the salvation o’ Master Bonnet 
if they do it.” 

“If that’s the case,” said Captain Marchand, “why 
should we resort to trickery? If his men want his 
ship and don’t want him, why can’t we seize him 
when he comes on board with his letters, and then let 
his men know that they are free to go to the devil in 
any way they please? Then we can convey Major 
Bonnet to his home, to repentance, perhaps, and a 
better life.” 

“That’s good,” said Ben, “but no’ to punishment. 
Ye an’ I could testify that his head is turned, but that, 
when kindness to a neebor is concerned, his heart is 
all right.” 

“Ay, ay,” said the captain ; “I could swear to that. 
And now we must act together. When I put my 
hand on him, you do the same, and give him no 
chance to use his sword or pistols.” 

The captain of the pirates sat down in his well-fur- 
nished little room to write his letters, and the noise 
and confusion on deck, the swearing and the singing 
and the shouting to be heard everywhere, did not 
80 


BEN CONVINCED BONNET IS A PIRATE 


seem to disturb him in the least. He was a man whose 
mind could thoroughly engage itself with but one 
thing at a time, and the fact that his men were at 
work sacking the merchantman did not in the least 
divert his thoughts from his pen and paper. 

So he quietly wrote to his wife that he had em- 
braced a pirate’s life, that he never expected to be- 
come a planter again, and that he left to her the 
enjoyment and management of his estate in Barba- 
dos. He hoped that, his absence having now relieved 
her of her principal reason for discontent with her 
lot, she would become happy and satisfied, and would 
allow those about her to be the same. He expected 
to send Ben Greenway back to her to help take care 
of her affairs, but if she should need further advice he 
advised her to speak to Master Neweombe. 

The letter to his daughter was different; it was 
very affectionate. He assured her of his sorrow at 
not being able to take her with him and to leave her 
at Jamaica, and he urged her at the earliest possible 
moment to go to her uncle and to remain there until 
she heard from him or saw him— the latter being 
probable, as he intended to visit Jamaica as soon as 
he could, even in disguise if this method were neces- 
sary. He alluded to the glorious career upon which 
he was entering, and in which he expected some day 
to make a great name for himself, of which he hoped 
she would be proud. 

When these letters were finished Bonnet hurried 
to the side of the vessel and looked upon the deck of 
the Amanda . 

Captain Marchand and Greenway had been waiting 
in anxious expectation for the return of Bonnet, and 

81 


KATE BONNET 


wondering how in the world a man could bring his 
mind to write letters at such a time as this. 

“Take these letters, Ben,” he said, leaning over the 
rail, “and give them to Captain Marchand.” 

Ben Greenway at first declined to take the letters 
which Bonnet held out to him, but the latter now 
threw them at his feet on the deck, and, running for- 
ward, he soon found himself in a violent and dis- 
orderly crowd, who did not seem to regard him at all ; 
booty and drink were all they cared for. Presently 
came Big Sam, giving orders and thrusting the men 
before him. He had not been drinking, and was in 
full possession of his crafty senses. 

“Throw off the grapnels,” exclaimed Big Sam, “and 
get up the foresel ! ” And then he perceived Bonnet. 
With a scowl upon his face, Big Sam muttered : “I 
thought you were on the merchantman, but no mat- 
ter. Shove her off, I say, or I’ll break your heads.” 

The grapnels were loosened ; the few men who were 
on duty shoved desperately ; the foresail went up, and 
the two vessels began to separate. But they were not 
a foot apart when, with a great rush and scramble, 
Ben Greenway left the merchantman and tumbled 
himself on board the Revenge. 

Bonnet rushed up to him. “You scoundrel ! You 
rascal, Ben Greenway, what do you mean? I in- 
tended you to go back to Bridgetown on that brig. 
Can I never get rid of you? ” 

“Ho’ till ye give up piratin’,” said Ben, with a grin. 
“Ye may split open my head an’ throw overboard 
my corpse, but my live body stays here as long as 
ye do.” 

With a savage growl Bonnet turned away from his 
82 


BEN CONVINCED BONNET IS A PIRATE 


faithful adherent. Things were getting very serious 
now and he could waste no time on personal quarrels. 
Great holes and splits had been discovered in the 
heads of the barrels of spirits, and the precious liquor 
was running over the decks. This was the work of 
the sagacious Big Sam, who had the strongest desire 
to get away from the Amanda before the pirate crew 
became so drunk that they could not manage the 
vessel. He was a deep man, that Big Sam, and at this 
moment, although he said nothing about it, he con- 
sidered himself the captain of the pirate ship which 
he sailed. 

For a time Bonnet hurried about, not knowing 
what to do. Some of the men were quarrelling about 
the booty ; others trying to catch the rum as it flowed 
from the barrels ; others howling out of pure devilish- 
ness ; and no one paying him any respect whatever. 
Big Sam was giving orders ; a few sober men were 
obeying him, and Captain Stede Bonnet, with his 
faithful servant Ben Green way, seemed to be entirely 
out of place amid this horrible tumult. 

“I told ye,” said Ben, “ye had better stayed on 
board that merchantman an’ gone back like a Chris- 
tian to your ain hame an’ family. It will be no safe 
place for ye, or for me neither, when that black- 
hearted scoundrel o’ a Big Sam gets time to attend 
to ye.” 

“Black-hearted?” inquired Bonnet, but without 
any surprise in his voice. 

“Ay,” said Ben ; “if there’s onything blacker than 
his heart, only Satan himsel’ ever looked at it. It 
was to be sailin’ this ship on his own account that 
he’s had in his villanous soul ever since he came on 

83 


KATE BONNET 


board ; an’ I can tell ye, Master Bonnet, that it won’t 
be long now before lie’s doin’ it. I bad me eye on 
him when he was on board the Amanda , an’ I saw 
that the scoundrel was goin’ to separate the ships .’ 7 

“That was my will,” said Bonnet, “although I did 
not order it.” 

Ben gave a little grunt. “ Ay,” said he— “hopin’ to 
leave me behind just as he was hopin’ to leave ye 
behind. But neither o’ ye got your wills, an’ it’ll be 
the de’il that’ll have a hand in the next leavin’ be- 
hind that’s likely to be done.” 

Bonnet made no reply to these remarks, having 
suddenly spied Black Paul. 

“Look here,” said he, stepping up to that sombre - 
hued personage ; “can you sail a ship t ” 

The other looked at Bonnet in astonishment. “I 
should say so,” said he. “I have commanded vessels 
before now.” 

“Here, then,” said Bonnet. “I want a sailing-master. 
I am not satisfied with this Big Sam. I am no navi- 
gator myself, but I want a better man than that fellow 
to sail my ship for me.” 

Black Paul looked hard at him, but made no answer. 

“He thinks he is sailing the ship for himself,” said 
Bonnet, “and it would be a bad day for you men if 
he did.” 

“That indeed would it,” said Black Paul ; “a close- 
fisted scoundrel, as I know him to be.” 

“Quick, then,” said Bonnet ; “now you’re my sailing- 
master ; and 'after this, when we divide the prizes, you 
take the same share that I do. As to these goods from 
the Amanda , I will have no part at all ; I give them 
all to you and the rest, divided according to rule. 

84 


BEN CONVINCED BONNET IS A PIRATE 


“Go you now among the men, and speak first to 
such as have taken the least liquor. Let them know 
that it was Big Sam that broke in the hogsheads, 
which, but for that, would have been sold and di- 
vided. Go quickly and get about you a half-dozen 
good fellows.” 

“Ye’re gettin’ wickeder and wickeder,” said Ben, 
When Black Paul had hurried away ,* “the de’il himsel’ 
couldna hae taught ye a craftier trick than that. 
Weel ye kenned that that black fellow would fain 
serve under a free-handed fool than a stingy knave. 
Ay, sir, your education’s progressin’ ! ” 

At this moment Big Sam came hurrying by. Not 
wishing to excite suspicion, Bonnet addressed him a 
question ; but, instead of answering, the burly pirate 
swore at him. “I’ll attend to your business,” said he, 
“as soon as I have my sails set ; then I’ll give you two 
leather-headed landsmen all the hoisting and lowering 
you’ll ever ask for.” Then, with another explosion of 
oaths, he passed on. 

Bonnet and Ben stood waiting with much impa- 
tience and anxiety, but presently came Black Paul 
with a party of brawny pirates following him. 

“Come, now,” said Bonnet, walking boldly aft 
toward Big Sam, who was still cursing and swearing 
right and left. Bonnet stepped up to him and touched 
him on the arm. “Look ye,” said he; “you’re no 
longer sailing-master on this ship ; I don’t like your 
ways or your fashions. Step forward, then, and go to 
the fo’ castle, where you belong ; this good mariner,” 
pointing to Black Paul, “will take your place and sail 
the Revenge .” 

Big Sam turned and stood astounded, staring at 
85 


KATE BONNET 


Bonnet. He spoke no word, but his face grew dark 
and his great eyebrows were drawn together. His 
mouth was half open, as if he were about to yell or 
swear. Then suddenly his right hand fell upon the 
hilt of his cutlass, and the great blade flashed in the 
air. He gave one bound toward Bonnet, and in 
the same second the cutlass came down like a stroke 
of lightning. But Bonnet had been a soldier and had 
learned how to use his sword ; the cutlass was caught 
on his quick blade and turned aside. At this moment 
Black Paul sprang at Big Sam and seized him by the 
sword-arm, while another fellow, taking his cue, 
grabbed him by the shoulder. 

“How, some of you fellows/’ shouted Bonnet, “seize 
him by the legs and heave him overboard ! ” 

This order was obeyed almost as soon as it was 
given. Four burly pirates rushed Big Sam to the bul- 
warks, and with a great heave sent him headforemost 
over the rail. In the next instant he had disappeared 
—gone, passed out of human sight or knowledge. 

“How, then, Master Paul— not knowing your other 
name—” 

“Which it is Bittern,” said the other. 

“You are now sailing-master of this ship ; and when 
things are straightened out a bit you can come below 
and sign articles with me.” 

“Ay, ay, sir,” said Black Paul ; and calling to the 
men, he gave orders that they go on with the setting 
of the maintopsail. 

“How, truly,” said Ben, “I believe that ye’re a 
pirate.” 

Bonnet looked at him, much pleased. “I told you 
so, my good Ben. I knew that the time would come 
86 


BEN CONVINCED BONNET IS A PIRATE 


when you would acknowledge that I am a true pirate $ 
after this you cannot doubt it any more.” 

“Never again, Master Bonnet,” said Ben Green- 
way, gravely shaking his head, “never again ! ” 

The brig Amanda , with full sails and an empty hold, 
bent her course eastward to the island of Barbados, 
and the next morning, when the drunken sailors on 
board the Revenge were able to look about them and 
consider things, they found their vessel speeding 
toward the coast of Cuba and sailed by Black Paul 
Bittern. 


87 


CHAPTER IX 


DICKORY SETS FOETH 

Master Felix Delaplaine, merchant and planter of 
Spanish Town, the capital of Jamaica, occupied a 
commodious house in the suburbs of the town, twelve 
miles up the river from Kingston, the seaport, which 
establishment was somewhat remarkable from the fact 
that there were no women in the family. Madam 
Delaplaine had been dead for several years, and as her 
husband’s fortune had steadily thriven, he now found 
himself possessor of a home in which he could be as 
independent and as comfortable as if he had been the 
president and sole member of a club. 

Being of a genial disposition and disposed to look 
most favorably upon his possessions and surrounding 
conditions, Master Delaplaine had come to be of the 
opinion that his lot in life was one in which improve- 
ment was not to be expected and scarcely to be de- 
sired. He had been perfectly happy with his wife, 
and had no desire to marry another, who could not 
possibly equal her ; and, having no children, he con- 
tinually thanked his happy stars that he was free from 
the troubles and anxieties which were so often brought 
upon fathers by their sons and their daughters. 

Into this quiet and self-satisfied life came, one morn- 
88 


DICKORY SETS FORTH 


ing, a great surprise in the shape of a beautiful young 
woman, who entered his office in Spanish Town, and 
who stated to him that she was the daughter of his 
only sister, and that she had come to live with him. 
There was an elderly dame and a young man in com- 
pany with the beautiful visitor, but Master Delaplaine 
took no note of them. With his niece’s hands in his 
own, gazing into the face so like that young face in 
whose company he had grown from childhood to man- 
hood, Master Delaplaine saw, in a flash, that since the 
death of his wife until that moment he had never had 
the least reason to be content with the world or to be 
satisfied with his lot. This was his sister’s child come 
to live with him ! 

When Master Delaplaine sufficiently recovered his 
ordinary good sense to understand that there were 
other things in this world besides the lovely niece 
who had so suddenly appeared before him, he remem- 
bered that she had a father, and many questions were 
asked and answered j and he was told who Dame 
Charter was, and why her son came with her. Then 
the uncle and the niece walked into the garden, and 
there talked of Major Bonnet. Little did Kate know 
upon this subject, and nothing could her uncle tell 
her 5 but in many and tender words she was assured 
that this was her home as long as she chose to live in 
it, and that it was the most fortunate thing in the 
world that Dame Charter had come with her and 
could stay with her. Had this not been so, where 
could he have found such a guardian angel, such a 
chaperon, for this tender niece? As for the young 
man, it was such rare good luck that he had been able 
to accompany the two ladies and give them his pro- 
89 


KATE BONNET 


tection. He was j ust the person, Master Delaplaine be- 
lieved, who would be invaluable to him either on the 
plantation or in his counting-house. In any case, 
here was their home ; and here, too, was the home of 
his brother-in-law Bonnet, whenever he chose to give 
up his strange fancy for the sea. It was not now to 
be thought of that Kate and her father, or either one 
of them, should go back to Barbados to live with the 
impossible Madam Bonnet. 

If her father’s vessel were in the harbor and he 
were here with them, or even if she had had good 
tidings from him, Kate Bonnet would have been a 
very happy girl, for her present abode was vastly 
different from any home she had ever known. Her 
uncle’s house on the highlands beyond the town lay 
in a region of cooler breezes and more bracing air 
than that of Barbados. Books and music and the 
general air of refinement recalled her early life with 
her mother, and, with the exception of the anxiety 
about her father, there were no clouds in the bright 
blue skies of Kate Bonnet. But this anxiety was a 
cloud, and it was spreading. 

When the Amanda moved away from the side of the 
pirate vessel Revenge she hoisted all sail, and got away 
over the sea as fast as the prevailing wind could take 
her. When she passed the bar below Bridgetown and 
came to anchor, Captain Marchand immediately 
lowered a boat and was rowed up the, river to the 
recent residence of Major Stede Bonnet, and there he 
delivered two letters— one to the wife of that gentle- 
man, and the other for his daughter. Then the cap- 
tain rowed back and went into the town, where he 
90 


DICKORY SETS FORTH 


annoyed and nearly distracted the citizens by giving 
them the most cautions and expurgated account of 
the considerate and friendly manner in which the 
Amanda had been relieved of her cargo by his old 
friend and fellow- vestryman, Major Bonnet. 

Captain Marchand had been greatly impressed by 
the many things which Ben Greenway had said about 
his master’s present most astounding freak, and hoping 
in his heart that repentance and a suitable reparation 
might soon give this hitherto estimable man an op- 
portunity to return to his former place in society, he 
said as little as he could against the name and fame 
of this once respected fellow-citizen. When he com- 
municated with the English owners of his now de- 
parted cargo, he would know what to say to them ; 
but here, safe in harbor with his vessel and his pas- 
sengers, he preferred to wait for a time before entirely 
blackening the character of the man who had allowed 
him to come here. Like the faithful Ben Greenway, 
he did not yet believe in Stede Bonnet’s piracy. 

Madam Bonnet read her letter and did not like it. 
In fact, she thought it shameful. Then she opened 
and read the letter to her stepdaughter. This she 
did not like either, and she put it away in a drawer ; 
she would have nothing to do with the transmission 
of such an epistle as this— most abominable when 
contrasted with the scurrilous screed he had written 
to her. 

Day after day passed on, and Kate Bonnet arose 
each morning feeling less happy than on the day 
before. But at last a letter came, brought by a French 
vessel which had touched at Barbados. This letter 


91 


KATE BONNET 


was to Kate from Martin Hewcombe. It was a love- 
letter— a very earnest, ardent love-letter ; but it did 
not make the young girl happy, for it told her very 
little about her father. The heart of the lover was so 
tender that he would say nothing to his lady which 
might give her needless pain. He had heard what 
Captain Marchand had told, and he had not under- 
stood it, and could only half believe it. Kate must 
know far more about all this painful business than he 
did, for her father’s letter would tell her all he wished 
her to know. Therefore, why should he discuss that 
most distressing and perplexing subject, which he 
knew so little about and which she knew all about? 
So he merely touched upon Major Bonnet and his 
vessel, and hoped that she might soon write to him 
and tell him what she cared for him to know, what 
she cared for him to tell to the people of Bridgetown, 
and what she wished to repose confidentially to his 
honor. But whatever she chose to say to him or not 
to say to him, he would have her remember that his 
heart belonged to her, and ever would belong, no 
matter what might happen or what might be said, for 
good or for bad, on the sea or the land, by friends or 
by enemies. 

This was a rarely good love-letter, but it plunged 
Kate into the deepest woe, and Dickory saw this first 
of all. He had brought the letter, and for the second 
time he saw tears in her eyes. The absence of news 
of Major Bonnet was soon known to the rest of the 
family, and then there were other tears. It was per- 
fectly plain, even to Dame Charter, that things had 
been said in Bridgetown which Master Newcombe had 
not cared to write. 


92 


DICKORY SETS FORTH 


“No, Dame Charter,” said Kate ; “I cannot talk to 
yon about it. My uncle has already spoken words of 
comfort, but neither you nor he know more than I 
do, and I must now think a little for myself, if I can.” 

So saying, she walked out into the grounds to a 
spot at a little distance where Dickory stood, reflec- 
tively gazing out over the landscape. 

“Dickory,” said the girl, “my mind is filled with 
horrible doubts. I heard of the talk in Bridge- 
town before we left, and now here is this letter from 
Master Newcombe from which I cannot fail to see that 
there must have been other talk that he considerately 
refrains from telling me.” 

“He should not have written such a letter!” ex- 
claimed Dickory, hotly. “He might have known it 
would have set you to suspecting things.” 

“You don’t know what you are talking about, you 
foolish boy,” said she; “it is a very proper letter 
about things you don’t understand.” 

She stepped a little closer to him as if she feared 
some one might hear her. “Dickory,” said she, “he 
did not put that thing into my mind ; it was there 
already. That was a dreadful ship, Dickory, and it 
was filled with dreadful men. If he had not intended 
to go with them he would not have put himself into 
their power, and if he had not intended to be long 
away he would not have planned to leave me here 
with my uncle.” 

“You ought not to think such a thing as that for 
one minute,” cried Dickory. “I would not think so 
about my mother, no matter what happened ! ” 

She smiled slightly as she answered. “I would my 
father were a mother, and then I need not think such 
93 


KATE BONNET 


things. But ? Dickory, if he had but written to me ! 
And in all this time he might have written, knowing 
how I must feel .’ 7 

Dickory stood silent, his bosom heaving. Suddenly 
he turned sharply toward her. “Of course he has 
written,” said he, “but how could his letter come to 
you? We know not where he has sailed, and, besides, 
who could have told him you had already gone to 
your uncle? But the people at Bridgetown must 
know things. I believe that he has written there.” 

“Why do you believe that?” she asked eagerly, 
with one hand on his arm. 

“I think it,” said Dickory, his cheeks a little rud- 
lier in their brownness, “because there is more known 
there than Master Kewcombe chose to put into his 
letter. If he has not written, how should they know 
more ? ” 

She now looked straight into his eyes, and as he 
returned the gaze he could see in her pupils his head 
and his straw hat, with the clear sky beyond. 

“Dickory,” she said, “if he wrote to anybody he also 
wrote to me, and that letter is still there.” 

“That is what I believe,” said he, “and I have been 
believing it.” 

“Then why didn’t you say so to me, you wretched 
boy?” cried Kate. “You ought to have known how 
that would have comforted me. If I could only think 
he has surely written, my heart would bound, no 
matter what his letter told $ but to be utterly dropped, 
that I cannot bear.” 

“You have not been dropped,” he exclaimed, “and 
you shall know it. Kate, I am going— ” 

“Kay, nay,” she exclaimed $ “you must not call me 
that!” 


94 


DICKORY SETS FORTH 


“But you call me Dickory,” lie said. 

“True, but you are so much younger.” 

“Younger!” he exclaimed in a tone of contempt, 
not for the speaker but for the word she had spoken. 
“Eleven months ! ” 

She laughed a little laugh ; her nature was so full 
of it that even now she could not keep it back. 

“You must have been making careful computa- 
tion,” she said. “But it does not matter ; you must not 
call me Kate, and I shall keep on calling you Dickory ; 
I could not help it. Now, where is it you were about 
to say you were going? ” 

“If you think me old enough,” said he, “I am going 
to Barbados in the King and Queen. She sails to- 
morrow. I shall find out about everything, and I 
shall get your letter ; then I shall come back and bring 
it to you.” 

“Dickory ! ” she exclaimed, and her eyes glowed. 

There was silence for some moments, and then he 
spoke, for it was necessary for him to say something, 
although he would have been perfectly content to 
stand there speechless, so long as her eyes still glowed. 

“If I don’t go,” said he, “it may be long before you 
hear from him $ having written, he will wait for an 
answer.” 

She thought of no difficulties, no delays, no dangers. 
“How happy you have made me, Dickory ! ” she said. 
“It is this dreadful ignorance, these fearful doubts of 
which I ought to be ashamed. But if I get his letter, 
if I know he has not deserted me ! ” 

“You shall get it,” he cried, “and you shall know ! ” 

“Dickory,” said she, “you said that exactly as you 
spoke when you told me that if I let myself drop into 
the darkness, you would be there.” 

95 


KATE BONNET 


“And you shall find me there now,” said he $ “al- 
ways, if you need me, you shall find me there ! ” 

Dame Charter had been standing and watching 
this interview, her foolish motherly heart filled with 
the brightest, most unreasonable dreams. And why 
should she not dream, even if she knew her dreams 
would never come true? In a few short weeks that 
Dickory boy had grown to be a man, and what should 
not be dreamed about a man ! 

As Kate ran by the open door toward her uncle’s 
apartments, Dame Charter rose up, surprised. 

“What have you been saying to her, Dickory? ” she 
exclaimed. “Do you know something we have not 
heard? Have you been giving her news of her 
father ? ” 

“No,” said the son who had so lately been a boy j 
“I have no news to give her, but I am going to get 
news for her.” 

She looked at him in amazement $ then she ex- 
claimed : “You ! ” 

“Yes,” he said $ “there is no one else. And, besides, 
I would not want any one else to do it. I am going 
to Bridgetown in the brig which brought us here ; it 
is a little sail, and when I get there I will find out 
everything. No matter what has happened, it will 
break her heart to think that her father deserted her 
without a word. I don’t believe he did it, and I shall 
go and find out.” 

“But, Dickory,” she said, with anxious, upraised 
face, “how can you get back ? Do you know of any 
vessel that will be sailing this way ? ” 

He laughed. 


96 


DICKORY SETS FORTH 


“Get back? If I go alone, dear mother, yon may 
be sure I shall soon get back. Craft of all kinds sail 
one way or another, and there are many ways in 
which I can get back not thought of in ordinary 
passage. When any kind of a vessel sails from Ja- 
maica, I can get on board of her, whether she takes 
passengers or not. I can sleep on a bale of goods or 
on the bare deck $ I can work with the crew, if need 
be. Oh, you need not doubt that I shall speedily 
come back ! ” 

They talked long together, this mother and this 
son, and it was her golden dreams for him that made 
her invoke Heaven’s blessings upon him and tell him 
to go. She knew, too, that it was wise for her to tell 
him to go and to bless him, for it would have been 
impossible to withstand him, so set was he in his pur- 
pose. 

“I tell you, Dame Charter,” said Master Delaplaine, 
an hour later, “this son of yours should be a great 
credit and pride to you, and he will be, I stake my 
word upon it.” 

“He is now,” said the good woman, quietly. 

“I have been pondering in my brain,” said he, 
“what I should do to relieve my niece of this burden 
of anxiety which is weighing upon her. I could see 
no way, for letters would be of no use, not knowing 
where to send them, and it would be dreary indeed 
to sit and wait and sigh and dream bad dreams until 
chance throws some light upon this grievous business ; 
and here steps up this young fellow and settles the 
whole matter. When he comes back, Dame Charter, 
I shall do well for him : I shall put him in my counting- 
97 


KATE BONNET 


house ; for, although doubtless he would fain live his 
young life in the fields and under the open sky, he will 
find the counting-house lies on the road to fortune, 
and good fortune he deserves.” 

If that loving mother could have composed this 
speech for Master Delaplaine to make she could not 
have suited it better to her desires. 

When the King and Queen was nearly ready to sail, 
Dickory Charter, having been detained by Master Dela- 
plaine, who wished the young man to travel as one of 
importance and plentiful resources, hurried to the 
house to take his final instructions from Mistress Kate 
Bonnet, in whose service he was now setting forth. 
It might have been supposed by some that no fur- 
ther instructions were necessary, but how could Dick- 
ory know that ? He was right. Kate met him before 
he reached the house. 

“I am so glad to see you again before you sail,” she 
said. “One thing was forgotten. You may see my 
father ; his cruise may be over, and he may be, even 
now, preparing for me to come back to Bridgetown. 
If this be so, urge him rather to come here. I had 
not thought of your seeing him, Dickory, and I did 
not write to him ; but you will know what to say. You 
have heard that woman talk of me, and you well know 
I cannot go back to my old home.” 

“Oh, I will say all that ! ” he exclaimed. “It will 
be the same thing as if you had written him a long 
letter. And now I must run back, for the boat is 
ready to take me down the river to the port.” 

“Dickory,” said she, and she put out her hand,— he 
had never held that hand before,— “you are so true, 
Dickory, you are so noble ; you are going— ” It was in 
98 


DICKORY SETS FORTH 


her mind to say “you are going as my knight-errant/’ 
but she deemed that unsuitable, and she changed it 
to— a you are going to do so much for me ! ” 

She stopped for a moment, and then she said : “You 
know I told you you should not call me Kate, being 
so much younger ; but as you are so much younger, 
you may kiss me if you like.” 

“Like!” 


99 


CHAPTER X 

CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER YINCE 

It was truly surprising to see the change which came 
over the spirits of our young Kate Bonnet when she 
heard that the King and Queen had sailed from Kings- 
ton port. She was gay, she was talkative, she sang 
songs, she skipped in the paths of the garden. One 
might have supposed she was so happy to get rid of 
the young man on the brig which had sailed away. 
And yet, the news she might hear when that young 
man came back was likely to be far worse than any 
misgivings which had entered her mind. Kate’s high 
spirits delighted her uncle. This child of his sister 
had grown more lovely than even her mother had 
ever been. 

How came days of delight which Kate had never 
dreamed of. She had not known that there were such 
shops in Spanish Town, which, although a youngish 
town, had already drawn to itself the fashion and the 
needs of fashion of that prosperous colony. With 
Dame Charter, and often also with her uncle in com- 
pany, this bright young girl hovered over fair fabrics 
which were spread before her, circled about jewels, 
gems, and feathers, and revelled in tender colors as 
100 


CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER VINCE 


would a butterfly among the blossoms, dipping and 
tasting as she flew. 

There were some fine folk in Spanish Town, and 
with this pleasant society of the capital Master Dela- 
plaine renewed his previous intercourse, and Kate 
soon learned the pleasures of a colonial social circle, 
whose attractions, brought from afar, had been warmed 
into a more cheerful glow in this bright West Indian 
atmosphere. 

To add to the brilliancy of the new life into which 
Kate now entered, there came into the port an Eng- 
lish corvette— the Badger — for refitting. From this 
welcome man-of-war there flitted up the river to 
Spanish Town gallant officers, young and older ; and 
in their flitting they flitted into the drawing-room of 
the rich merchant Delaplaine, and there were some 
of them who soon found that there were no drawing- 
rooms in all the town where they could talk with, 
walk with, and perchance dance with such a fine girl 
as Mistress Kate Bonnet. 

Kate greatly fancied gallant partners, whether for 
walking or talking or dancing, and among such those 
which came from the corvette in the harbor pleased 
her most. 

Those were not bright days for Dame Charter. Do 
what she would, her optimism was growing dim, and 
what helped to dim it was Kate’s gayety. It did not 
comfort her at all when Kate told her that she was so 
light-hearted because she knew that Dickory would 
bring her good news. 

u Truly, too many fine young men here,” thought 
Dame Charter, “while Dickory is away, and all of 
them together are not worth a curl on his head.” 

101 


KATE BONNET 


But, although her dreams were dimmed, she did 
not cease dreaming. A stout-hearted woman was 
Dickory’s mother. 

But it was not long before there were other people 
thereabout who began to feel that their prospects for 
present enjoyment were beginning to look a little 
dim ; for Captain Christopher Vince, having met Mis- 
tress Kate Bonnet at an entertainment at the gover- 
nor’s house, was greatly struck by this young lady. 
Each officer of the Badger who saw their captain in 
company with the fair one to whom their gallant at- 
tentions had been so freely offered now felt that in 
love, as well as in accordance with the regulations of 
the service, he must give place to his captain. More- 
over, when that captain took upon himself, the very 
next day, to call at the residence of Master Delaplaine, 
and repeated the visit upon the next day and the 
following, the crestfallen young fellows were com- 
pelled to acknowledge that there were other houses 
in the town where it might be better worth their 
while to spend their leisure hours. 

Captain Vince was not a man to be lightly inter- 
fered with, whether he happened to be engaged in 
the affairs of Mars or Cupid. He was of a resolute 
mind, and of a person more than usually agreeable to 
the female eye. He was about forty years of age, of 
an excellent English family, and with good expecta- 
tions. He considered himself an admirable judge of 
women, but he had never met one who so thoroughly 
satisfied his aesthetic taste as this fair niece of the 
merchant Delaplaine. She had beauty, she had wit, 
she had culture, and the fair fabrics of Spanish Town 
shops gave to her attractions a setting which would 
102 


CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER VINCE 


have amazed and entranced Master Newcombe or our 
good Dickory. The soul of Captain Vince was fired, 
and each time he met Kate and talked with her the 
fire grew brighter. 

He had never considered himself a marrying man, 
but that was because he had never met any one he 
had cared to marry. Now things were changed. 
Here was a girl he had known but for a few days, and 
already, in his imagination, he had placed her in the 
drawing-rooms of the English home he hoped soon to 
inherit, more beautiful and even more like a princess 
than any noble dame who was likely to frequent those 
rooms. In fancy he had seen her by his side, walking 
through the shaded alleys of his grand old gardens ; 
he had looked proudly upon her as she stood by him 
in the assemblages of the great ; in fact, he had fallen 
suddenly and absolutely in love with her. When he 
was away from her he could not quite understand 
this condition of things, but when he was with her 
again he understood it all. He loved her because it 
was absolutely impossible for him to do anything else. 

Naturally, Captain Vince was very agreeable to 
Mistress Kate, for she had never seen such a handsome 
man, taking into consideration his uniform and his 
bearing, and had never talked with one who knew so 
well what to say and how to say it. Comparing him 
with the young officers who had been so fond of mak- 
ing their way to her uncle’s house, she was glad that 
they had ceased to be such frequent visitors. 

The soul of Master Delaplaine was agitated by the 
admiration of his niece which Captain Vince took no 
trouble to conceal. The worthy merchant would 
gladly have kept Kate with him for years and years 
103 


KATE BONNET 


if she would have been content to stay, but this could 
not be expected $ and if she married, from what other 
quarter could come such a brilliant match as this? 
What his brother-in-law might think about it he did 
not care ; if Kate should choose to wed the captain, 
such an eccentric and untrustworthy person should 
not be permitted to interfere with the destiny that 
now appeared to open before his daughter. These 
thoughts were not so idle as might have been sup- 
posed, for the captain had already said things to the 
merchant in which the circumstances of the former 
were made plain and his hopes foreshadowed. If the 
captain were not prepared to leave the service, this 
rich merchant thought, why should not he make it 
possible for him to do so, for the sake of his dear 
niece ? 

With these high ambitions in his mind, the happily 
agitated Master Delaplaine did not hesitate to say some 
playful words to Kate concerning the captain of the 
Badger ; and these having been received quietly, he 
was emboldened to go on and say some other words, 
more serious. 

Then Kate looked at him very steadfastly and re- 
marked : “But, uncle, you have forgotten Master 
Kewcombe.” 

The good Delaplaine made no answer, for his emo- 
tions made it impossible for him to do so $ but, rising, 
he went out, and at a little distance from the house 
he damned Master Kewcombe. 

Days passed on and the captain’s attentions did not 
wane. Master Delaplaine, who was a man of honor ex- 
pecting it in others, made up his mind that something 
decisive must soon be said ; while Kate began greatly 
104 


CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER VINCE 


to fear that something decisive might soon be said. 
She was in a difficult position. She was not engaged 
to Martin Kewcombe, but had believed she might be. 
The whole affair involved a question which she did 
not want to consider. And still the captain came 
every day, generally in the afternoon or evening. 

But one morning he made his appearance, coming 
to the house quite abruptly. 

“I am glad to find you by yourself,” said he, “for I 
have some awkward news.” 

Kate looked at him, surprised. 

“I have just been ordered on duty,” he continued, 
“and the order is most unwelcome. A brig came in 
last night and brought letters, and the governor sent 
for me this morning. I have just left him. The 
cruise I am about to take may not be a long one, but 
I cannot leave port without coming here to you and 
speaking to you of something which is nearer to my 
heart than any thought of service, or in fact of any- 
thing else.” 

“Speaking to my uncle, you mean,” said Kate, now 
much disturbed, for she saw in the captain’s eyes what 
he wished to talk of. 

“Away with uncles ! ” he exclaimed. “We can speak 
with them by and by $ now my words are for you. 
You may think me hasty, but we gentlemen serving 
the king cannot afford to wait ; and so, without other 
pause, I say, sweet Mistress Kate, I love you better 
than I have ever loved woman, better than I can ever 
love another. Kay, do not answer ; I must tell you 
everything before you reply.” And to the pale girl 
he spoke of his family, his prospects, and his hopes. 
In the warmest colors he laid before her the life and 


105 


KATE BONNET 


love lie would give her. Then he went quickly on : 
“This is but a little matter which is given to my 
charge, and it may not engage me long j I am going 
out in search of a pirate, and I shall make short work 
of him— the shorter, having such good reason to get 
quickly back. 

“In fact, he is not a real pirate anyway, being but 
a country gentleman tiring of his rural life and liking 
better to rob, burn, and murder on the high seas. He 
has already done so much damage that if his evil 
career be not soon put an end to good people will be 
afraid to voyage in these waters. So I am to sail in 
haste after this fellow Bonnet ; but before—” 

Kate’s face had grown so white that it seemed to 
recede from her great eyes. “He is my father,” said 
she, “but I had not heard until now that he is a 
pirate ! ” 

The captain started from his chair. “What ! ” he 
cried, “your father? Yes, I see. It did not strike 
me until this instant that the names are the same.” 

Kate rose, and as she spoke her voice was not full 
and clear as it was wont to be. “He is my father,” 
she said, “but he sailed away without telling me his 
errand ; but now that I know everything, I must—” 
If she had intended to say she must go, she changed 
her mind, and even came closer to the still astounded 
captain. “You say that you will make short work of 
his vessel ; do you mean that you will destroy it, and 
will you kill him? ” 

Captain Vince looked down upon her, his face filled 
with the liveliest emotions. “My dear young lady ! ” 
he said, and then he stopped as if not knowing what 
words to use. But as he looked into her eyes fixed 
106 


CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER VINCE 


upon his own and waiting for his answer, his love for 
her took possession of him and banished all else. 
“Kill him?” he exclaimed. “Kever ! He shall be as 
safe in my hands as if he were walking in his own 
fields. Kill your father, dearest? Loving you as I 
do, that would be impossible. I may take the rascals 
who are with him ; I may string them up to the yard- 
arm, or I may sink their pirate ship with all of them 
in it ; but your father shall be safe. Trust me for that $ 
he shall come to no harm from me.” 

She stepped a little way from him, and some of her 
color came back. For some moments she looked at 
him without speaking, as if she did not exactly com- 
prehend what he had said. 

“Yes, my dear,” he continued ; “I must crush out 
that piratical crew, for such is my duty as well as my 
wish. But your father I shall take under my protec- 
tion ; so have no fear about him, I beg you. With 
his ship and his gang of scoundrels taken away from 
him, he can no longer be a pirate, and you and I will 
determine what we shall do with him.” 

“You mean,” said Kate, speaking slowly, “that for 
my sake you will shield my father from the punish- 
ment which will be dealt out to his companions? ” 

He smiled, and his face beamed upon her. “What 
blessed words ! ” he exclaimed. “Yes, for your sake, 
for your sweet, dear sake I will do anything. And as 
for this matter, I assure you there are so many 
ways—” 

“You mean,” she interrupted, “that for my sake 
you will break your oath of office— that you will be a 
traitor to your service and your king ? That for my 
sake you will favor the fortunes of a pirate whom you 
107 


KATE BONNET 


are sent out to destroy? Mean it if you please, but 
you will not do it. I love my father, and would fain 
do anything to save him and myself from this great 
calamity ; but I tell you, sir, that for my sake no man 
shall do himself dishonor ! ” 

Without power to say another word, nor to keep 
back for another second the anguish which raged 
within her, she fled like a bird and was gone. 

The captain stretched out his arms as if he would 
seize her ; he rushed to the door through which she 
had passed : but she was gone. He followed her, shout- 
ing to the startled servants who came ; he swore, and 
demanded to see their mistress ; he rushed through 
rooms and corridors, and even made as if he would 
mount the stairs. Presently a woman came to him 
and told him that under no circumstances could Mis- 
tress Bonnet now be seen. 

But he would not leave the house. He called for 
writing materials, but in an instant threw down the 
pen. Again he called a servant and sent a message, 
which was of no avail. Dame Charter would have 
gone down to him, but Kate was in her arms. For 
several minutes the furious officer stood by the chair 
in which Kate had been sitting ; he could not com- 
prehend the fact that this girl had discarded and had 
scorned him. And yet her scorn had not in the least 
dampened the violence of his love. As she stood and 
spoke her last bitter words, the grandeur of her beauty 
had made him speechless to defend himself. 

He seized his hat and rushed from the house ; hot 
and with blazing eyes, he appeared in the counting- 
room of Master Delaplaine, and there, to that astounded 
merchant, he told, with brutal cruelty, of his orders 
108 


CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER VINCE 


to destroy the pirate Bonnet, his niece’s father ; and 
then he related the details of his interview with that 
niece herself. 

Master Delaplaine’s countenance, at first shocked and 
pained, grew gradually sterner and colder. Presently 
he spoke. “I will hear no more such words, Captain 
Vince,” he said, u regarding the members of my family. 
You say my niece knows not what fortune she trifles 
with ; I think she does. And when she told you she 
would not accept the offer of your dishonor, I com- 
mend her every word.” 

Captain Vince frowned black as night, and clapped 
his hand to his sword-hilt j but the pale merchant 
made no movement of defence, and the captain, strik- 
ing his clinched fist against the table, dashed from 
the room. Before he reached his ship he had sworn 
a solemn oath : he vowed that he would follow that 
pirate ship ; he would kill, burn, destroy, annihilate, 
but out of the storm and the fire he would pick un- 
harmed the father of the girl who had entranced him 
and had spurned him. He laughed savagely as he 
thought of it. With that dolt of a father in his hands, 
a man wearing always around his neck the hangman’s 
noose, he would hold the card which would give him 
the game. What Mistress Kate Bonnet might say or 
do, what she might like or might not like, what her 
ideas about honor might be or might not be, it would 
be a very different thing when he, her imperious 
lover, should hold the end of that noose in his hand. 
She might weep, she might rave ; but come what would, 
she was the man’s daughter, and she would be Lady 
Vince. 

So he went on board the Badger , and he cursed and 
109 


KATE BONNET 


he commanded and he raged ; and his officers and his 
men, when the hurried violence of his commands gave 
them a chance to speak to each other, muttered that 
they pitied that pirate and his crew when the Badger 
came up with them. 

Clouds settled down upon the home of Master Dela- 
plaine. There were no visitors, there was no music, 
there seemed to be no sunshine. The beautiful fabrics, 
the jewels, and the feathers were seen no more. It 
was Kate of the broken heart who wandered under 
the trees and among the blossoms, and knew not that 
there existed such things as cooling shade and sweet 
fragrance. She could not be comforted, for, although 
her uncle told her that he had had information that 
her father’s ship had sailed northward, and that it 
was therefore likely that the corvette would not 
overtake him, she could not forget that, whatever of 
good or evil befell that father, he was a pirate, and he 
had deserted her. 

So they said but little, the uncle and the niece, who 
sorrowed quietly. 

Dame Charter was in a strange state of mind. Dur- 
ing the frequent visits of Captain Vince she had been 
apprehensive and troubled, and her only comfort was 
that the Badger had merely touched at this port to 
refit, and that she must soon sail away and take with 
her her captain. The good woman had begun to ex- 
pect and to hope for the return of Dickory, but later 
she had blessed her stars that he was not there. He 
was a fiery boy, her brave son, but it would have been 
a terrible thing for him to become involved with an 
officer in the navy, a man with a long, keen sword. 

Now that the captain had raged himself away from 
110 


CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER VINCE 


the Delaplaine house, her spirits rose, and her great 
fear was that the corvette might not leave port before 
the brig came in. If Dickory should hear of the 
things that captain had said— but she banished such 
thoughts from her mind ; she could not bear them. 

After some days the corvette sailed, and the gov- 
ernor s^oke well of the diligence and ardor which had 
urged Captain Vince to so quickly set out upon his 
path of duty. 

“ When Dickory comes back,” said Dame Charter to 
Kate, “he may bring some news to cheer your poor 
heart $ things get so twisted in the telling.” 

Kate shook her head. “Dickory cannot tell me 
anything now,” she said, “that I care to know, know- 
ing so much. My father is a pirate, and a king’s ship 
has gone out to destroy him, and what could Dickory 
tell me that would cheer me?” 

But Dame Charter’s optimism was beginning to 
take heart again and to spread its wings. 

“Ah, my dear, you don’t know what good things do 
in this life continually crop up. A letter from your 
father, possibly withheld by that wicked Madam 
Bonnet,— which is what Dickory and I both think,— 
or some good words from the town that your father 
has sold his ship and is on his way home. Nobody 
knows what good news that Dickory may bring with 
him.” 

The poor girl actually smiled. She was young, and 
in the heart of youth there is always room for some 
good news, or for the hope of them. 

But the smile vanished altogether when she went 
to her room and wrote a letter to Martin Newcombe. 
In this letter, which was a long one, she told her lover 
111 


KATE BONNET 


how troubled she had been, that she had nothing 
now to ask him about the bad news he had, in his 
kindness, forborne to tell her, and that when he saw 
Dickory Charter he might say to him from her that 
there was no need to make any further inquiries 
about her father j she knew enough, and far too much 
—more, most likely, than any one in Bridgetown 
knew. Then she told him of Captain Vince and the 
dreadful errand of the corvette Badger. 

Having done this, Kate became as brave as any 
captain of a British man-of-war, and she told her lover 
that he must think no more of her 3 it was not for 
him to pay court to the daughter of a pirate. And 
so she blessed him and bade him farewell. 

When she had signed and sealed this letter she felt 
as if she had torn out a chapter of her young life and 
thrown it upon the fire. 


112 


CHAPTER XI 


BAD WEATHER 

When Hickory Charter sailed away from the island 
of Jamaica, his reason, had it been called upon, would 
have told him that he had a good stout brig under 
him on which there were people and ropes and sails 
and something to eat and drink. But in those mo- 
ments of paradise he did not trouble his reason very 
much, and lived in an atmosphere of joy which he did 
not attempt to analyze, but was content to breathe as 
if it had been the common air about him. He was 
going away from every one he loved, and yet never 
before had he been so happy in going to any one he 
loved. He cared to talk to no one on board, but in 
company with his joy he stood and gazed westward 
out over the sea. 

He was but little younger than she was, and yet 
that difference, so slight, had lifted him from things 
of earth and had placed him in that paradise where 
he now dwelt. 

So passed on the hours, so rolled the waves, and so 
moved the King and Queen before the favoring breeze. 

It was on the second day out that the breeze began 
to be less favoring and there were signs of a storm ; 
and, in spite of his preoccupied condition, Hickory 
113 


KATE BONNET 


was obliged to notice the hurried talk of the officers 
about him, he occupying a point of vantage on the 
quarter-deck. Presently he turned and asked of some 
one if there was likelihood of bad weather. The mate, 
to whom he had spoken, said somewhat unpleasantly, 
“Bad weather enough, I take it, as we may all soon 
know; but it is not wind or rain. There is bad 
weather for you ! Do you see that ? ” 

Dickory looked, and saw far away, but still distinct, 
a vessel under full sail with a little black spot floating 
high above it. 

He turned to the man for explanation. “And what 
is that?” he said. 

“It is a pirate ship,” said the other, his face hard- 
ening as he spoke, “and it will soon be firing at us to 
heave to.” 

At that moment there was a flash at the bow of the 
approaching vessel, a little smoke, and then the report 
of a cannon came over the water. 

Without further delay, the captain and crew of the 
King and Queen went to work and hove to L their 
brig. 

Young Dickory Charter also hove to. He did not 
know exactly why, but his dream stopped sailing 
over a sea of delight. They stood motionless, their 
sails flapping in the wind. 

“Pirates ! ” he thought to himself, cold shivers 
running through him. “Is this brig to be taken ? Am 
I to be taken? Am I not to go to Barbados, to 
Bridgetown, her home ? Am I not to take her back 
the good news which will make her happy? Are 
these things possible ? ” 

He stared over the water, he saw the swiftly ap- 
114 


BAD WEATHER 


proaching vessel, lie could distinguish the skull and 
bones upon the black flag which flew above her. 

These things were possible, and his heart fell ; but 
it was not with fear. Dickory Charter was as bold a 
fellow as ever stood on the deck in a sea-fight, but 
his heart fell at the thought that he might not be 
going to her old home, and that he might not sail 
back with good news to her. 

As the swift-sailing pirate ship sped on, Ben Green- 
way came aft to Captain Bonnet, and a grievous grin 
was on the Scotchman’s face. 

“Good greetings to ye, Master Bonnet,” said he ; 
“ye’re truly good to your old friends an’ neebors, an’ 
pass them not by, even when your pockets are burstin’ 
wi’ Spanish gold.” 

A minute before this Captain Stede Bonnet had 
been in a very pleasant state of mind. It was only 
two days ago that he had captured a Spanish ship, 
from which he got great gain, including considerable 
stores of gold. Everything of value had been secured, 
the tall galleon had been burned, and its crew had 
been marooned on a barren spot on the coast of San 
Domingo. The spoils had been divided,— at least, 
every man knew what his share was to be,— and the 
officers and the crew of the Revenge were in a well- 
contented state of mind. In fact, Captain Bonnet 
would not have sailed after a little brig, certainly 
unsuited to carry costly cargo, had it not been that 
his piratical principle made it appear to him a point 
of conscience to prey upon all mercantile craft, lit- 
tle or big, which might come in his way. Thus it 
was that he was sailing merrily after the King and 
115 


KATE BONNET 

Queen when Ben Greenway came to him with his dis- 
turbing words. 

“What mean you?” cried Bonnet. “Know you 
that vessel ? ” 

“Ay, weel,” said Ben ; “it is the King and Queen , 
bound, doubtless, for Bridgetown. I tell ye, Master 
Bonnet, that it was a great deal o’ trouble an’ expense 
ye put yersel’ to when ye went into your present line 
o’ business on this ship. Ye could hae stayed at 
hame where she is owned, an’ wi’ these fine fellows 
that ye hae gathered thegither ye might hae robbed 
your neebors right an’ left wi’out the trouble o’ goin’ 
to sea.” 

“Ben Green way,” roared the captain, “I will have 
no more of this. Is it not enough for me to be an- 
noyed and worried by these everlasting ships of 
Bridgetown, which keep sailing across my bows, no 
matter in what direction I go, without hearing your 
jeers and sneers regarding the matter? I tell you, 
Ben Greenway, I will not have it. I will not suffer 
these paltry vessels, filled, perhaps, with the grocers 
and cloth-dealers from my own town, to interfere 
thus with the bold career that I have chosen. I tell 
you, Ben Green way, I’ll make an example of this one. 
I am a pirate, and I will let them know it — these 
fellows in their floating shops. It will be a fair and 
easy thing to sink this tub without more ado. I’d 
rather meet three Spanish ships, even had they 
naught aboard, than one of these righteous craft 
commanded by my most respectable friends and 
neighbors.” 

Black Paul, the sailing-master, had approached and 
had heard the greater part of these remarks. 

“Better board her and see what she carries,” said 
116 


BAD WEATHER 


he, “before we sink her. The men have been talking 
about her, and many of them favor not the trouble 
of marooning those on board of her. So, say most of 
us, let’s get what we can from her, and then quickly 
rid ourselves of her, one way or another.’ 7 

“’Tis well ! ” cried Bonnet. “We can riddle her hull 
and sink her.” 

“Wi’ the neebors on board?” asked Greenway. 

Captain Bonnet scowled blackly. 

“Ben Greenway,” he shouted, “it would serve you 
right if I tied you hand and foot and bundled you on 
board that brig, after we have stripped her, if haply 
she have anything on board we care for.” 

“An’ then sink her?” asked the Scotchman. 

“Ay, sink her ! ” replied Bonnet. “Thus would I 
rid myself of a man who vexes me every moment that 
I lay my eyes on him, and, moreover, it would please 
you ; for you would die in the midst of those friends 
and neighbors you have such a high regard for. That 
would put an end to your cackle, and there would be 
no gossip in the town about it.” 

The sailing-master now came aft. The vessel had 
been put about and was slowly approaching the brig. 
“Shall we make fast? ” asked Black Paul. “If we do 
we shall have to be quick about it ; the sea is rising, 
and that clumsy hulk may do us damage.” 

For a moment Captain Bonnet hesitated ; he was 
beginning to learn something of the risks and dangers 
of a nautical life, and here was real danger if the two 
vessels ran nearer each other. Suddenly he turned 
and glared at Greenway. “Make fast!” he cried 
savagely, “make fast ! if it be only for a minute.” 

“Do ye think in your heart,” asked the Scotchman, 
grimly, “that ye’re pirate enough for that?” 

117 


CHAPTER XII 


FACE TO FACE 

With her head to the wind the pirate vessel Revenge 
bore down slowly upon the King and Queen , now lying 
to and awaiting her. The stiff breeze was growing 
stiffer and the sea was rising. The experienced eye 
of Paul Bittern, the sailing-master of the pirate, now 
told him that it would be dangerous to approach the 
brig near enough to make fast to her, even for the 
minute which Captain Bonnet craved— the minute 
which would have been long enough for a couple of 
sturdy fellows to toss on board the prize that exasper- 
ating human indictment, Ben Greenway. 

“We cannot do it,” shouted Black Paul to Bonnet ; 
“we shall run too near her as it is. Shall we let fly 
at short range and riddle her hull ? ” 

Captain Bonnet did not immediately answer ; the 
situation puzzled him. He wanted very much to put 
the Scotchman on board the brig, and after that he 
did not care what happened. But before he could 
speak there appeared on the rail of the King and 
Queen , holding fast to a shroud, the figure of a young 
man, who put his hand to his mouth and hailed : 

“ Throw me a line ! Throw me a line ! ” 

Such an extraordinary request at such a time natu- 
118 


FACE TO FACE 


rally amazed the pirates, and they stood staring, as 
they crowded along the side of their vessel. 

“If yon are not going to board her,” shouted Dick- 
ory again, “throw me a line ! ” 

Filled with curiosity to know what this strange 
proceeding meant, Black Paul ordered that a line be 
thrown, and, in a moment, a tall fellow seized a coil 
of light rope and hurled it through the air in the 
direction of the brig ; but the rope fell short, and the 
outer end of it disappeared beneath the water. Now 
the spirit of Black Paul was up. If the fellow on the 
brig wanted a line he wanted to come aboard, and if 
he wanted to come aboard, he should do so. So he 
seized a heavier coil and, swinging it around his head, 
sent it, with tremendous force, toward Dickory, who 
made a wild grab at it and caught it. 

Although a comparatively light line, it was a long 
one, and the slack of it was now in the water, so that 
Dickory had to pull hard upon it before he could 
grasp enough of it to pass around his body. He had 
scarcely done this, and made a knot of it, before a 
lurch of the brig brought a strain on the rope, and 
he was incontinently jerked overboard. 

The crew of the merchantman, who had not had 
time to comprehend what the young fellow was about 
to do, would have grasped him had he remained on 
the rail a moment longer ; but now he was gone into 
the sea, and, working vigorously with his legs and 
arms, was endeavoring to keep his head above water 
while the pirates at the other end of the rope pulled 
him swiftly toward their vessel. 

Great was the excitement on board the Revenge. 
Why should a man from a merchantman endeavor, 
119 


KATE BONNET 


alone, to board a vessel which flew the Jolly Boger? 
Did he wish to join the crew? Had they been ill- 
treating him on board the brig? Was he a criminal 
endeavoring to escape from the officers of the law? 
It was impossible to answer any of these questions, 
and so the swarthy rascals pulled so hard and so 
steadily upon the line that the knot in it, which Dick- 
ory had not tied properly, became a slip-knot, and 
the poor fellow’s breath was nearly squeezed out of 
him as he was hauled over the rough water. When 
he reached the vessel’s side there was something said 
about lowering a ladder 5 but the men who were 
hauling on the line were in a hurry to satisfy their 
curiosity, so up came Dickory straight from the water 
to the rail, and that proceeding so increased the 
squeezing that the poor fellow fell upon the deck 
scarcely able to gasp. When the rope was loosened 
the half-drowned and almost breathless Dickory raised 
himself and gave two or three deep breaths 5 but he 
could not speak, despite the fact that a dozen rough 
voices were asking him who he was and what he 
wanted. 

With the water pouring from him in streams, and 
his breath coming from him in puffs, he looked about 
him with great earnestness. 

Suddenly a man rushed through the crowd of pirates 
and stooped to look at the person who had so strangely 
come aboard. Then he gave a shout. “It is Dickory 
Charter,” he cried, “Dickory Charter, the son o’ old 
Dame Charter ! Ye Dickory ! an’ how in the name 
o’ all that’s blessed did ye come here? Master Bon- 
net! Master Bonnet!” he shouted to the captain, 
who now stood by, “it is young Dickory Charter of 
120 


FACE TO FACE 


Bridgetown. He was on board this vessel before we 
sailed, wi’ Mistress Kate an’ me. The last time I saw 
her he was wi’ her.” 

“What!” exclaimed Bonnet, “with my daugh- 
ter?” 

“Ay, ay ! ” said Greenway. “It must hae been a 
little before she went on shore.” 

“Young man ! ” cried Bonnet, stooping toward Dick- 
ory, “when did you last see my daughter? Do you 
know anything of her ? ” 

The young man opened his mouth, but he could not 
yet do much in the way of speaking, but he managed 
to gasp, “I come from her ; I am bringing you a mes- 
sage.” 

“A message from Kate ! ” shouted Bonnet, now in a 
state of wild excitement. “Here you, Greenway, lift 
up the other arm, and we will take him to my cabin. 
Quick, man ! Quick, man ! he must have some spirits 
and dry clothes. Make haste, now ! A message from 
my daughter ! ” 

“If that’s so,” said Greenway, as he and Bonnet 
hurried the young man aft, “ye’d better no’ be in too 
great haste to get his message out o’ him or ye’ll kill 
him wi’ pure recklessness.” 

Bonnet took the advice, and before many minutes 
Dickory was in dry clothes and feeling the inspiriting 
influence of a glass of good old rum. Kow came 
Black Paul, wanting to know if he should sink the 
brig and be done with her, for they couldn’t lie by in 
such weather. 

“Don’t you fire on that ship ! ” yelled Bonnet. “Don’t 
you dare it ! For all I know, my daughter may be 
on board of her.” 


121 


KATE BONNET 


At this Dickory shook his head. “Ho / 7 said he ; 
“she is not on board.” 

“Then let her go / 7 cried Bonnet j “I have no time 
to fool with the beggarly hulk. Let her go ! I have 
other business here. And now, sir / 7 addressing Dick- 
ory, “what of my daughter? You have got your 
breath now ; tell me quickly ! What is your message 
from her? When did you sail from Bridgetown? 
Did she expect me to overhaul that brig? How in 
the name of all the devils could she expect that ? 77 

“Come, come, now, Master Bonnet ! 77 exclaimed the 
Scotchman, “ye are talkin’ o 7 your daughter, the good 
an 7 beautiful Mistress Kate, an 7 no matter whether ye 
are a pirate or no, ye must keep a guard on your 
tongue. An 7 if ye think she knew where to find ye, 
ye must consider her an angel an 7 no 7 to be spoken o 7 
in the same breath as de’ils . 77 

“I didn’t sail from Bridgetown,” said Dickory, “and 
your daughter is not there. I come from Jamaica, 
where she now is, and was bound to Bridgetown to 
seek news of you, hoping that you had returned there.” 

“Which, if he had,” said Ben, who found it very 
difficult to keep quiet, “ye would hae been under the 
necessity o’ givin 7 your message to his bones hangin 7 
in chains.” 

Bonnet looked savagely at Ben, but he had no time 
even to curse. 

“Jamaica!” he cried. “How did she get there? 
Tell me quickly, sir —tell me quickly ! Do you hear ? 77 

Dickory was now quite recovered, and he told his 
story, not too quickly, and with much attention to 
details. Even the account of the unusual manner in 
which he and Kate had disembarked from the pirate 
122 


FACE TO FACE 


vessel was given without curtailment, nor with any 
attention to the approving grunts of Ben Greenway. 
When he came to speak of the letter which Master 
Hewcombe had written her, and which had thrown 
her into such despair on account of its shortcomings, 
Captain Bonnet burst into a fury of execration. 

“And she never got my letter,” he cried, “and 
knew not what had happened to me ! It is that wife 
of mine, that cruel wildcat ! I sent the letter to my 
house, thinking, of course, it would find my daughter 
there. For where else should she be 1 ” 

“ An’ a maist extraordinary wise mon ye were to do 
that,” said Ben Greenway, “for ye might hae known, 
if ye had ever thought o’ it at all, that the place where 
your wife was, was the place where your daughter 
couldna be, an* ye no* wi’ her. If ye had spoke to 
me about it, it would hae gone to Master Hewcombe, 
an’ then ye’d hae known that she’d be sure to get 
it.” 

At this a slight cloud passed over Dickory’s face, 
and, in spite of the misfortunes which had followed 
upon the non-delivery of her father’s letter, he could 
not help congratulating himself that it had not been 
sent to the care of that man Newcombe. He had not 
had time to formulate the reasons why this proceed- 
ing would have been so distasteful to him, but he 
wanted Martin Newcombe to have nothing to do with 
the good or bad fortune of Mistress Kate, whose cham- 
pion he had become and whose father he had found, 
and to whom he was now talking, face to face. 

The three talked for a long time, during which 
Black Paul had put the vessel about upon her former 
course and was sailing swiftly to the north. As Dick- 
123 


KATE BONNET 


ory went on, Bonnet ceased to curse, but, over and 
over, blessed his brother-in-law as a good man and 
one of the few worthy to take into his charge the good 
and beautiful. Stede Bonnet had always been very 
fond of his daughter, and now, as it became known 
to him into what desperate and direful condition his 
reckless conduct had thrown her, he loved her more 
and more, and grieved greatly for the troubles he had 
brought upon her. 

“But it’ll be all right now ! ” he cried. “She’s with 
her good uncle, who will show her the most gracious 
kindness, both for her mother’s sake and for her own ; 
and I will see to it that she be not too heavy a charge 
upon him.” 

“As for ye, Dickory,” exclaimed Greenway, “ye’re 
a brave boy an’ will yet come to be an honor to your 
mither’s declinin’ years an’ to the memory o’ your 
father. But how did ye ever come to think o’ boardin’ 
this nest o’ sea-de’ils, an’ at such risk to your life ? ” 

“I did it,” said Dickory, simply, “because Mistress 
Kate’s father was here, and I was bound to come to 
him wherever I should find him, for that was my 
main errand. They told me on the brig that it was 
Captain Bonnet’s ship that was overhauling us, and I 
vowed that as soon as she boarded us I would seek 
him out and give him her message $ and when I heard 
that the sea was getting too heavy for you to board 
us, I determined to come on board if I could get hold 
of a line.” 

“Young man,” cried Bonnet, rising to his full height 
and swelling his chest, “I bestow upon you a father’s 
blessing. More than that,”— and as he spoke he 
pulled open a drawer of a small locker,— “here’s a bag 
124 


FACE TO FACE 


of gold pieces,' and when you take my answer you 
shall have another like it.” 

But Dickory did not reach out his hand for the 
money, nor did he say a word. 

“Don’t be afraid,” cried Bonnet. “If you have any 
religious scruples, I will tell you that this gold I did 
not get by piracy. It is part of my private fortune, 
and came as honestly to me as I now give it to you.” 

But Dickory did not reach out his hand. 

Now up spoke Ben Greenway : “Look ye, boy,” said 
he ; “as long as there’s a chance left o’ gettin’ honest 
gold on board this vessel, I pray ye, seize it, an’ if 
ye’re afraid o’ this gold, thinkin’ it may be smeared 
wi’ the blood o’ fathers an’ the tears o’ mithers, I’ll 
tell ye ane thing, an’ that is that Master Bonnet 
hasna got to be so much o’ a pirate that he willna tell 
the truth. So I’ll tak’ the money for ye, Dickory, 
an’ I’ll keep it till ye’re ready to tak’ it to your 
mither ; an’ I hope that will be soon.” 


125 


CHAPTER XIII 

CAPTAIN BONNET GOES TO CHURCH 

The pirate vessel Revenge was now bound to the coast 
of the Carolinas and Virginia, and perhaps even 
farther north, if her wicked fortune should favor her. 
The growing commerce of the colonies offered great 
prizes in those days to the piratical cruisers which 
swarmed up and down the Atlantic coast. To lie over 
for a time off the coast of Charles Town was Captain 
Bonnet’s immediate object, and to get there as soon 
a 5 possible was almost a necessity. 

> The crew of desperate scoundrels whom he had 
gathered together had discovered that their captain 
knew nothing of navigation or the management of a 
ship, and there were many of them who believed that 
if Black Paul had chosen to turn the vessel’s bows to 
the coast of South America, Bonnet would not have 
known that they were not sailing northward. Thus 
they had lost all respect for him, and their conduct 
was kept within bounds only by the cruel punishments 
which he inflicted for disobedience or general bad 
conduct, and which were rendered possible by the 
dissensions and bad feelings among the men them- 
selves, one clique or faction being always ready to 
help punish another. Consequently, the landsman 
126 


CAPTAIN BONNET GOES TO CHURCH 


pirate would speedily have been tossed overboard, 
and the command given to another, had it not been 
that the men were not at all united in their opinions 
as to who that other should be. 

There was also another very good reason for Bon- 
net’s continuance in authority : he was a good divider, 
and, so far, had been a good provider. If he should 
continue to take prizes, and to give each man under 
him his fair share of the plunder, the men were likely 
to stand by him until some good reason came for their 
changing their minds. So with floggings and irons, 
on deck and below, and with fair winds filling the 
sails above, the Revenge kept on her way; and, in 
spite of the curses and quarrels and threats which 
polluted the air through which the stout ship sailed, 
there was always good-natured companionship wher- 
ever the captain, Dickory, and Ben Greenway found 
themselves together. There seemed to be no end to 
the questions which Bonnet asked about his daughter, 
and when he had asked them all he began over again, 
and Dickory made answer as he had done before. 

The young fellow was growing very anxious at this 
northern voyage, and when he asked questions they 
always related to the probability of his getting back 
to Jamaica with news from the father of Mistress 
Kate Bonnet. The captain encouraged the hopes of 
an early return, and vowed to Dickory that he would 
send him to Spanish Town with a letter to his daughter 
just as soon as an opportunity should show itself. 

When the Revenge reached the mouth of Charles 
Town harbor she stationed herself there, and in four 
days captured three well-laden merchantmen, two 
bound outward, and one going in from England. 

127 


KATE BONNET 


Thus all went well, and with willing hands to man 
her yards and a proudly strutting captain on her 
quarter-deck, the pirate ship renewed her northward 
course, and spread terror and made prizes even as far 
as the New England coast ; and if Dickory had had 
any doubts that the late reputable planter of Bridge- 
town had now become a veritable pirate he had many 
opportunities of setting himself right. Bonnet seemed 
to be growing proud of his newly acquired taste for 
rapacity and cruelty. Merchantmen were recklessly 
robbed and burned, their crews and passengers, even 
babes and women, being set on shore in some desolate 
spot to perish or survive, the pirate cared not which ; 
and if resistance were offered, bloody massacres or 
heartless drownings were almost sure to follow ; and 
as his men coveted spoils and delighted in cruelty, he 
satisfied them to their heart’s content. 

“I tell you, Dickory Charter,” said he, one day, 
“when you see my daughter I want you to make her 
understand that I am a real pirate, and not playing 
at the business. She’s a brave girl, my daughter Kate, 
and what I do she would have me do well and not 
half-heartedly, to make her ashamed of me. And 
then, there is my brother-in-law, Delaplaine. I don’t 
believe that he had a very high opinion of me when 
I was a plain farmer and planter, and I want him to 
think better of me now. A bold, fearless pirate can- 
not be looked upon with disrespect.” 

Dickory groaned in his heart that this man was the 
father of Kate. 

Turning southward, rounding the cape of Delaware, 
the j Revenge ran up the bay, seeking some spot where 
she might take in water, casting anchor before a little 
128 


CAPTAIN BONNET GOES TO CHURCH 


town on the coast of New Jersey. Here, while some 
of the men were taking in water, others of the crew 
were allowed to go on shore, their captain swearing 
to them that if they were guilty of any disorder 
they should suffer for it. “On my vessel,” he swore, 
“I am a pirate, but when I go on shore I am a 
gentleman, and every one in my service shall behave 
himself as a gentleman. I beg of you to remember 
that.” 

Agreeable to this principle, Captain Bonnet ar- 
rayed himself in a fine suit of clothes, and without 
arms, excepting a genteel sword, and carrying a cane, 
he landed with Ben Greenway and Dickory, and pro- 
ceeded to indulge himself in a promenade up the main 
street of the town. 

The * citizens of the place, terrified and amazed at 
this bold conduct of a vessel fearlessly flying a black 
flag with the skull and bones, could do nothing but 
await their fate. The women and children, and many 
of the men, hid themselves in garrets and cellars, and 
those of the people who were obliged to remain visible 
trembled and prayed. But Captain Stede Bonnet 
walked boldly up the right-hand side of the main 
street, waving his cane in the air as he spoke to the 
people, assuring them that he and his men came on an 
errand of business, seeking nothing but some fresh 
water and an opportunity to stretch their legs on solid 
ground. 

“If you have meat and drink,” he cried, “bestow it 
freely upon my men, tired of the unsavory food on 
shipboard ; and if they transgress the laws of hospi- 
tality, then I, their captain, shall be your avenger. 
We want none of your goods or money, having enough 
129 


KATE BONNET 


in our well-laden vessel to satisfy all your necessities, 
if ye have them, and to feel it not.” 

The men strolled along the street, swarmed into the 
two little taverns, soon making away with their small 
stores of ale and spirits, and accepting everything 
eatable offered them by the shivering citizens j but as 
to violence, there was none, for every man of the ras- 
cally crew bore enmity against most of the others, and 
held himself ready for a chance to report a shipmate 
or to break his head. 

Black Paul was a powerful aid in the preservation 
of order among the disorderly. Conflicts between 
factions of the crew were greatly feared by him, for 
the schemes which happy chance had caused to now 
revolve themselves in his master mind would have 
been sadly interfered with by want of concord among 
the men of the Revenge. 

Captain Bonnet, followed at a short distance by 
Dickory and Ben, was interested in everything he 
saw. A man of intelligence and considerable reading, 
it pleased him to note the peculiarities of the people 
of a country which he had never visited. The houses, 
the shops, and even the attire of the citizens were 
novel and well worthy of his observation. He looked 
over garden walls, he gazed out upon the fields which 
were visible from the upper end of the street, and 
when he saw a man who was able to command his 
speech he asked him questions. 

There was a little church standing back from the 
thoroughfare, its door wide open, and this was an 
instant attraction to the pirate captain, who opened 
the gate of the yard and walked up to it. 

“That I should ever again see Master Stede Bonnet 
130 


CAPTAIN BONNET GOES TO CHURCH 


goin’ into a church was something I didna dream o’, 
Dickory,” said Ben Greenway ; “it will he a meeraele, 
an’ I doubt if he dares to pass the door wi’ his sins 
an’ his plunders on his head.” 

But Captain Bonnet did pass the door, reverentially 
removing his hat, if not his crimes, as he entered. In 
but few ways it resembled the houses of worship to 
which he had been accustomed in his earlier days, 
and he gazed eagerly from side to side as he slowly 
walked up the central aisle. Dickory was about to 
follow him, but he was suddenly jerked back by the 
Scotchman, who forcibly drew him away from the door. 

“Look ye,” whispered Ben, speaking quickly, under 
great excitement ; “look ye, Dickory. Heaven has sent 
us our chance. He’s in there safe an’ sound, an’ the 
good angels will keep his mind occupied. I’ll quietly 
close the door an’ turn the key, then I’ll slip around 
to the back, an’ if there be anither door there, I’ll 
stop it some way, if it be not already locked. How, 
Dickory boy, make your heels fly ! I noticed, before 
we got here, that some o’ the men were makin’ their 
way to the boats ; dash ye amang them, Dickory, an’ 
tell them that the day they’ve been longin’ for, ever 
since they set foot on the vessel, has now come. Their 
captain is a prisoner, an’ they are free to hurry on 
board their vessel an’ carry awa’ wi’ them a’ their vile 
plunder.” 

“What ! ” exclaimed Dickory, speaking so earnestly 
that the Scotchman pulled him farther away from the 
church, “do you mean that you would leave Captain 
Bonnet here by himself, in a foreign town? ” 

“Ho’ a bit o’ it,” said Ben ; “I’ll stay wi’ him, an’ so 
will you. How run, Dickory ! ” 

131 


KATE BONNET 


“Ben ! ” exclaimed the other, “you don’t know what 
you are talking about! Captain Bonnet would be 
seized and tried as a pirate. His blood would be on 
your head, Ben ! ” 

“I canna talk about that now,” said Ben, impa- 
tiently ; “ye think too much o’ the mon’s body, Dick- 
ory, an’ I am considerin’ his soul.” 

“And I am considering his daughter,” said Dickory, 
fearlessly 5 “do you suppose I am going to help to 
have her father hanged? ” And with these words he 
made a movement toward the door. 

The eager Scotchman seized him. “Dickory, be- 
think yoursel’,” said he. “I don’t want to hang him 5 
I want to save him, body an’ soul. We will get him 
awa’ from here after the ship has gone ; he will be 
helpless then, he canna be a pirate a minute longer, 
an’ he will give up an’ do what I tell him. We can 
leave before there is ony talk o’ trial or hangin’. Run, 
Dickory, run ! Ye’re sinfully losin’ time. Think o’ 
his soul, Dickory ; it’s his only chance ! ” 

With a great jerk Dickory freed himself from the 
grasp of the Scotchman. 

“It is Kate Bonnet I am thinking of!” he ex- 
claimed, and with that he bolted into the church. 

The captain was examining the little pulpit. 
“Haste ye! haste ye!” cried Dickory. “Your men 
are all hurrying to the boats 5 they will leave you be- 
hind if they can ; that’s what they are after.” 

Bonnet turned quickly. He took in the situation 
in a second. With a few bounds he was out of the 
church, nearly overturning Ben Green way as he passed 
him. Without a word he ran down the street, his 
cane thrown away and his drawn sword in his hand, 
132 


CAPTAIN BONNET GOES TO CHURCH 

Dickory’s warning had not come a minute too soon ; 
one boatful of men was pulling toward the ship, and 
others were hurrying in the direction of an empty 
boat which awaited them at the pier. Bonnet, with 
Dickory close at his heels, ran with a most amazing 
rapidity, while Greenway followed at a little distance, 
scarcely able to maintain the speed. 

“What means this?” cried Bonnet, now no longer 
a gentleman, but a savage pirate ; and as he spoke he 
thrust aside two of the men who were about to get 
into the boat, and jumped in himself. “What means 
this?” he thundered. 

Black Paul answered quietly : “I was getting the 
men on board,” he said, “so as to save time, and I 
was coming back for you.” 

Bonnet glared at his sailing-master, but he did not 
swear at him— he was too useful a man $ but in his heart 
he vowed that he would never trust Paul Bittern 
again, and that as soon as he could he would get rid 
of him. 

But when he reached the ship, three men out of each 
boat’s crew, selected at random to represent the rest, 
were tied up and flogged, the blows being well laid 
on by scoundrels very eager to be brutal, even to 
their own shipmates. 

“Ah, Dickory, Dickory,” cried Ben Green way, as 
they were sailing down the bay, “ye hae loaded your 
soul wi’ sin this day ; I fear ye’ll never rise from under 
it. Whatever vile deeds that Major Bonnet may 
henceforth be guilty o’, ye’ll be responsible for them 
a’, Dickory, for every ane o’ them.” 

“He’s bad enough, Ben,” said the other, “and it’s 
many a wicked deed he may do yet ; but I am going 
133 


KATE BONNET 


to carry news of him to his daughter if I can j and, 
what’s more, I am not going to stay behind and be 
hanged, even if it is in such good company as Major 
Bonnet and you, Ben Greenway.” 

Whatever should happen on the rest of that voy- 
age,— whether the well-intentioned treachery of Ben 
Greenway or the secret villanies of the crew should 
prevail, whether disaster or success should come to the 
planter-pirate,— Dickory Charter resolved in his soul 
that a message from her father should go to Kate 
Bonnet, and that he should carry it. 

The spirits of Dickory rose very much as the bow 
of the Revenge was pointed southward. Every mile 
that the pirate vessel sailed brought him nearer to 
the delivery of his message— a message which, while 
it told of her father’s wicked career, still told her of 
his safety and of his steadfast affection for her. In- 
directly, the bringing of such a message, and the story 
of how the bearer brought it, might have another 
effect, which, although he had no right to expect, was 
never absent from Dickory’s soul. This ardent young 
lover did not believe in Master Martin Newcombe. 
He had no good reason for not believing in him, but 
his want of faith did not depend upon reason. If 
lovers reasoned too much, it would be a sad world for 
many of them. 

When the Revenge stopped in her progress toward 
the heavenly island of Jamaica, or at least that island 
which was the abode of an angel, and anchored off 
Charles Town harbor, South Carolina, Dickory fumed 
and talked impatiently to his friend Ben Greenway. 
Why a man, even though he were a pirate and there- 
134 


CAPTAIN BONNET GOES TO CHURCH 


fore of an avaricious nature, should want more booty 
when his vessel was already crowded with valuable 
goods, he could not imagine. 

But Ben Greenway could very easily imagine. 
“ When the speerit o’ sin is upon ye,” said the Scotch- 
man, “the more an’ more wicked ye’re likely to be ; 
an’ ye must no’ forget, Dickory, that every new crime 
he commits, an’ a’ the property he steals, an’ a’ the 
unfortunate people he maroons, will hae to be an- 
swered for by ye, Dickory, when the time comes for 
ye to stand up an’ say what ye hae got to say about 
your ain sins. If ye had stood by me an’ helped to 
cut him short in his nefarious career, he might now 
be beginnin’ a new life in some small coastin’ -vessel 
bound for Barbados.” 

Dickory gave an impatient kick at the mast near 
which he was standing. “It would have been more 
likely,” said he, “that before this he would have begun 
a new life on the gallows, with you and me alongside 
of him ; and how do you suppose you would have got 
rid of the sin on your soul when you thought of his 
orphan daughter in Jamaica ? ” 

“Your thoughts are too much on that daughter,” 
snapped Greenway, “an’ no’ enough on her father’s 
soul.” 

“I am tired of her father’s soul,” said Dickory. “I 
wonder what new piece of mischief they are going to 
do here. There are no ships to be robbed.” 

Dickory did not know very much or care very 
much about the sea and its commerce, and some ships 
to be robbed soon made their appearance. One was 
a large merchantman with a full cargo, and the other 
was a bark, northward bound, in ballast. The acqui- 
135 


KATE BONNET 


sition of the latter vessel put a new idea into Captain 
Bonnet’s head. The Revenge was already overloaded, 
and he determined to take the bark as a tender to 
relieve him of a portion of his cargo and to make 
herself useful in the business of marooning and such 
troublesome duties. 

Being now commander of two vessels, which might 
in time increase to a little fleet, Captain Bonnet’s 
ideas of his own importance as a terror of the sea in- 
creased rapidly. On the Revenge he was more des- 
potic and severe than ever before, while the villain 
who had been chosen to command the tender, because 
he had a fair knowledge of navigation, was informed 
that if he kept the bark more than a mile from the 
flag-ship, he would be sunk with the vessel and all on 
board. The loss of the bark and some men would be 
nothing compared to the maintenance of discipline, 
quoth the planter-pirate. 

Bonnet’s ambition rose still higher and higher. He 
was not content with being a relentless pirate, bloody 
if need be, but he longed for recognition, for a posi- 
tion among his fellow-terrors of the sea which should 
be worthy of a truly wicked reputation. A pirate 
bold, he would consort with pirates bold. So he set 
sail for the Gulf of Honduras, then a great rendezvous 
for piratical craft of many nations. If the father of 
Kate Bonnet had captured and burned a dozen ships, 
and had forced every sailor and passenger thereupon 
to walk a plank, he would not have sinned more 
deeply in the eyes of Dickory Charter than he did by 
thus ruthlessly, inhumanly, hard-heartedly, and alto- 
gether shamefully ignoring and pitilessly passing by 
that island on which dwelt an angel, his own daughter. 

136 


CAPTAIN BONNET GOES TO CHURCH 


But Bonnet declared to the young man that it would 
now be dangerous for him and his ship to approach 
the harbor of Kingston, generally the ^esort of British 
men-of-war, but in the waters of Honduras he could 
not fail to find some quiet merchant-ship by which 
he could send a message to his daughter. Ay, and in 
which— and the pirate’s eye glistened with parental 
joy as this thought came into his mind— he might, 
disguised as a plain gentleman, make a visit to Mis- 
tress Kate and to his good brother-in-law Delaplaine. 
So Dickory was now to be satisfied, and even to admit 
that there might be some good common-sense in these 
remarks of that most uncommon pirate, Captain 
Bonnet. 

So the Revenge, with her tender, sailed southward, 
through the fair West-Indian waters and by the fair 
West-Indian isles, to join herself to the piratical fleet 
generally to be found in the waters of Honduras. 


137 


CHAPTER XIV 

A GIRL TO THE FRONT 

The days were getting very long at Spanish Town, 
although there were no more hours of sunlight than 
was usual at the season ; and even the optimism of 
Dame Charter was scarcely able to brighten her own 
soul, much less that of Kate Bonnet, who had almost 
forgotten what it was to be optimistic. Poor Master 
Delaplaine, whose life had begun to cheer up wonder- 
fully since the arrival of his niece and her triumphant 
entry into the society of the town, became more 
gloomy than he had been since the months which 
followed the death of his wife. Over and over did he 
wish that his brother-in-law Bonnet had long since 
been shut up in some place where his eccentricities 
could do no harm to his fellow-creatures, especially to 
his most lovely daughter. 

Mistress Kate Bonnet was not a girl to sit quietly 
under the tremendous strain which bore upon her 
after the departure of the Badger. How could she 
be contented or even quiet at any moment, when at 
that moment that heartless Captain Vince might have 
his sword raised above the head of her unfortunate 
father? 


138 


A GIRL TO THE FRONT 


“ Uncle, 1 ” she said, “I cannot bear it any longer ; I 
must do something.” 

“But, my dear,” he asked, looking down upon her 
with infinite affection, “what can you do? We are 
here upon an immovable island, and your father and 
Captain Vince are sailing upon the sea, nobody knows 
where.” 

“I thought about it all last night,” said Kate, “and 
this is what I will do. I will go to the governor ; I 
will tell him all about my father. I do not think it 
will be wrong even to tell him why I think his mind 
has become unsettled, for if that woman in Bridge- 
town has behaved wickedly, her wickedness should 
be known. Then I will ask him to give me written 
authority to take my father, wherever I may find him, 
and to bring him here, where it shall be decided what 
shall be done with him ; and I am sure the decision 
will be that he must be treated as a man whose mind 
is not right, and who should be put somewhere where 
he can have nothing to do with ships.” 

This was all quite childish to Master Delaplaine, but 
for Kate’s dear sake he treated her scheme seriously. 

“But tell me, my dear,” said he, “how are you going 
to find your father, and in what way can you bring 
him back here with you ? ” 

“The first thing to do,” said Kate, “is to hire a 
ship ; I know that my little property will yield me 
money enough for that. As for bringing him back, 
that’s for me to do. With my arms around his neck 
he cannot be a pirate captain. And think of it, uncle ! 
if my arms are not soon around his neck, it may be 
the hangman’s rope which will be there. That is, if 
he is not killed by that revengeful Captain Vince.” 

139 


KATE BONNET 


Master Delaplaine was troubled far more than he 
had yet been. His sorrowing niece believed that there 
was something which might be done for her father ; 
but he, her practical uncle, did not believe that any- 
thing could be done. And, even if this were possible, 
he did not wish to do it. If, by some unheard-of 
miracle, his niece should be enabled to carry out her 
scheme, she could not go alone, and thoughts of sailing 
upon the sea, and the dangers from pirates, storms, 
and wrecks, were very terrible to the quiet merchant. 
He could not encourage this night-born scheme of 
his niece. 

“But there is one thing I can do,” cried Kate, “and 
I must do it this very day. I must go to the gov- 
ernor’s house ; and I pray you, uncle, that you will go 
with me. I must tell him about my father. I must 
make him do something which shall keep that Cap- 
tain Vince from sailing after him and killing him. 
How I wish I had thought of all this before ! But it 
did not come to me.” 

It was not half an hour after that when Kate and 
her uncle entered the grounds of the governor’s man- 
sion. 


140 


CHAPTER XY 


THE GOVERNOR OF JAMAICA 

The governor of Jamaica was much interested in the 
visit of Kate Bonnet, whom he saw alone in a room 
adjoining the public apartments. He had met her 
two or three times before, and had been forced to 
admit that the young girls of Barbados must be 
pretty and piquant to an extraordinary degree, and 
he had not wondered that his friend Captain Vince 
should have spoken of her in such an enthusiastic 
manner. 

But now she was different. Her sorrow had given 
her dignity and had added to her beauty. She quickly 
told her tale, and he started upright in his chair as he 
heard it. 

“Do you mean,” he exclaimed, “that that pirate 
after whom I sent the Badger is your father? It 
amazes me ! The similarity of names did not strike 
me ; I never imagined any connection between you 
and the captain of that pirate ship.” 

“That’s what Captain Vince said when I last saw 
him,” remarked Kate. 

“It must have astounded him to know it,” ex- 
claimed the governor, “and I wonder, knowing it, that 
he consented to obey my orders $ and had I been in 
141 


KATE BONNET 


his place I would have preferred to be dismissed from 
the service rather than to sail after your father and 
to destroy him. If I had known what I know now, 
my orders to Captain Yince would have been very 
different from what they were. I would have told 
him to capture your father and to bring him here to 
me. It cannot be that he is in his right mind ! ” 

Now Kate was weeping ; the terrible words “ destroy 
him/’ and the assurance that if she had thought sooner 
of appealing to the governor, much misery, or at least 
the thought of misery, might have been spared her, 
so affected her that she could not control herself. 

The governor did not attempt to console her. Her 
sorrow was natural, and it was her right. 

When she looked up again she spoke about what 
she had come to ask him for : the authority to bring 
back her father, wherever she might find him, and to 
defend him from the attacks of all persons, whoever 
they might be, until she reached Jamaica. And then 
she told him how she would seek for her father on 
every sea. 

The governor sat and pondered. The father of 
such a girl should be saved from the terrible fate 
awaiting him, if the thing could possibly be done. 
And yet, what a difficult, almost hopeless thing it 
was to do— to find a pirate, a fierce and bloody pirate, 
and bring him back unharmed to his daughter’s arms 
and to reasonable restraint ! 

He spoke earnestly. “What you propose,” he said, 
“you cannot do. It would be impossible for you to 
find your father ; and if you did, no matter who might 
be with you, and no matter how successful you might 
be with him, his crew would not let him go. But 
142 


THE GOVERNOR OF JAMAICA 


there is one thing which might be done. The Badger 
will report at different stations, and her course and 
present cruising-ground might be discovered. Thus 
I might send a despatch to Captain Vince, ordering 
him not to harm your father, but to take him pris- 
oner and to bring him here to be dealt with.” 

Kate sprang to her feet. 

“ An order to Captain Vince ! ” she exclaimed. “An 
order to withhold his hand from my father t Ah, sir, 
your goodness is great ; this is far more than I had 
dared to expect ! When I last saw Captain Vince he 
left me in a great rage ; but, knowing that he would 
respect your order, I would dare his rage. If his re- 
vengeful hand should be withheld from my father I 
would fear nothing.” 

“I beg you to be seated,” said the governor, “and 
let me assure you that in offering to send this order 
to Captain Vince I do not in the least expect you to 
take it. But there is one thing I do not understand. 
Why should the captain have left you in a great 
rage ? Perhaps I have not a right to ask this, but it 
seems to me to have some bearing upon his alacrity 
in setting forth in pursuit of the Revenge . 71 

“I fear,” said Kate, “that this may be true ; I do 
not deem it improper for me to say to you, sir, that 
Captain Vince made me an offer of marriage, and 
that in order to induce me to accept it he offered, 
should he come up with the Revenge , to spare my 
father and to let him go free, visiting the punishment 
he was sent to inflict upon the rest of the people in 
the ship.” 

“I am surprised,” said the governor, “to hear you 
say that ; such an action would have been direct dis- 
143 


KATE BONNET 


obedience to his orders. It would have been dis- 
loyalty, which not even the possession of your fair 
hand could justify. And you refused his offer f ” 

“That did I,” said Kate, her face flushing at the 
recollection of the unpleasant interview with the cap- 
tain ; “I cared not for him, and even had I, I would 
not have consented to wed a man who offered me his 
dishonor as a bribe for doing so. Kot even for my 
father’s life would I become the bride of such a one ! ” 

“Well spoken, Mistress Bonnet ! ” exclaimed the 
governor. “Your heart, though a tender, is a stout 
one. But this you tell me of Captain Vince is very 
bad ; he is a vindictive man, and will have what he 
wants, even without regard to the means by which he 
may get it. I am glad to know what you have told 
me, Mistress Bonnet, and if I had known it betimes I 
would not have sent in pursuit of your father a man 
whose anger had been excited against his daughter. 
But now I shall despatch orders to Captain Vince 
which shall be very exact and peremptory. After he 
has received them he will not dare to harm your 
father, and would cause him to be brought here as I 
command.” 

“From my heart I thank you, sir,” cried Kate ; “give 
me the orders and I will take them, or I will—” 

“Kay, nay,” said the governor ; “such offices are not 
for you, but I will give the matter my present atten- 
tion. On any day a vessel may enter the port with 
news of the Badger , and on any day a vessel may clear 
from Kingston, possibly for Bridgetown, where I 
imagine the Badger will first touch. Bely upon me, 
my dear young lady, my order shall go to Captain 
Vince by the very earliest opportunity.” 

144 


THE GOVERNOR OF JAMAICA 


Kate rose and thanked him warmly. “This is much 
to do, your Excellency, for one poor girl,” she said. 

“It is but little to do,” said the governor, “an that 
girl be yourself.” 

With that he rose, offered Kate his arm, and con- 
ducted her to her uncle. 

When Master Delaplaine was made acquainted with 
the result of the interview, both his gratitude and 
surprise were great. He comprehended far better 
than Kate could the extent of the favor which the 
governor had offered to bestow. It was indeed ex- 
traordinary to commute what was really a sentence of 
death against a notorious and dangerous pirate for 
the sake of a beautiful and pleading woman. An 
ambitious idea shot through the merchant’s brain. 
The governor was a widower $ he had met Kate before. 
Was there any other lady on the island better fitted 
to preside over the gubernatorial household? But, 
although a man of high position could not wed the 
daughter of a pirate, a pirate, evidently of an unsound 
mind, could be adjudged demented, as he truly was, 
and thus the shadow of his crime be lifted from him. 
This was a great deal to think in a very short time, 
but the good merchant did it, and the fervor of his 
thankfulness was greatly increased by his rapid reflec- 
tions. 

As they were on their way home Kate’s eyes were 
bright, and her step lighter than it had been of late. 
“Now, uncle,” said she, “you know we shall not wait 
for any chance ship which may take the governor’s 
despatch. We ourselves shall engage a swift vessel 
by which the orders may be carried. And, uncle, 
when that ship sails I must go in her.” 

145 


KATE BONNET 

“ You ! ” cried Master Delaplaine. “ You go in search 
of the Badger and Captain Vince ? That can never—” 
“But remember, uncle,” cried Kate, “it is just as 
likely that I shall meet my father’s ship as any other, 
and then we can snap our fingers at all orders and all 
captains. My father shall be brought here, and the 
good governor will make him safe, and free him, as 
he best knows how, from the terrible straits into which 
his disturbed reason has led him.” 

Her uncle would not darken Kate’s bright hopes, 
ill founded though he thought them. To look into 
those sparkling eyes again was a joy of which he would 
not deprive himself, if he could help it. 

“Suppose he should capture our vessel ! ” she ex- 
claimed. “What a grand thing it would be for him, 
all unknowing, to spring upon our deck and instantly 
be captured by me ! After that there would be no 
more pirate’s life for him ! ” 

When Dame Charter heard what had happened at 
the governor’s house, and had listened to the recital 
of Kate’s glowing schemes, her eyes did not immedi- 
ately glisten with joy. 

“If you go, Mistress Kate,” said she, “in search of 
your father or that wicked Captain Vince, I go with 
you ; but I cannot go without my Dickory. It is full 
time to expect his return, although, as he was to de- 
pend upon so many chances before he could come 
back, his absence may, with good reason, continue 
longer, and I could not have him come back and find 
his mother gone, no man knows where. For in such 
a quest what man could know? ” 

“Oh, Dickory will be here soon ! ” cried Kate. “Any 
146 

L 


THE GOVERNOR OF JAMAICA 


ship which comes sailing toward the harbor may bring 
him.” 

The governor of Jamaica was a man of great ex- 
perience, and with a fairly clear insight into the ways 
of the wicked. When Kate and her uncle had left 
him and he paced the floor, with the memory of the 
beautiful eyes of the pirate’s daughter as they had 
been uplifted to his own, he felt assured that he could 
see rightly into the designs of the unscrupulous Cap- 
tain Vince. Of what avail would it be for him to kill 
the father of the girl who had rejected him ? It would 
be an atrocious but temporary triumph scarcely to be 
considered. But to capture that father $ to disregard 
the laws of the service and the orders of his superiors, 
which he had already proposed to do ; to communi- 
cate with Kate and to hold up before her terror- 
stricken eyes the life of her father, to be ended in 
horror or enjoyed in peace as she might decide— that 
would be Vince as the governor knew him. 

The governor knew well his man, and those were 
the designs and intentions of Captain Christopher 
Vince of his Majesty’s corvette the Badger. 


147 


CHAPTER XVI 

A QUESTION OF ETIQUETTE 

Proudly sailed the Revenge and her attendant bark 
into the waters of Honduras Gulf, and proudly stood 
Captain Stede Bonnet upon his quarter-deck, dressed 
in a handsome uniform which might have been that 
of a captain or admiral in the royal navy j one hand 
caressed his ornate sword-hilt, while the other was 
thrust into the bosom of his gilt-embroidered coat. 
A newly fashioned Jolly Roger, in which the back- 
ground was very black and the skull and cross-bones 
ghastly white, flew from his masthead. 

As night came on there could be seen, twinkling 
far away upon the horizon, a beacon-light which in 
those days was kept burning for the benefit of the 
piratical craft which made a rendezvous of the waters 
off Belize, then the commercial centre for the vessels 
of the “free companions.” Having supposed, in his 
unnautical mind, that his entrance into the Gulf of 
Honduras meant the end of his present voyage, and 
not wishing to lower his own feeling of importance by 
asking too many questions of his inferiors, Captain 
Bonnet had bedecked himself a day too soon, and 
there were some jeers and sneers amQng his crew when 
he descended to his cabin to take off his fine clothes. 


148 


A QUESTION OF ETIQUETTE 

But his self-complacency was well armored, and he 
did not hear the jokes of which he was the subject, 
especially by the little clique of which Black Paul was 
the centre. But the sailing-master knew his business, 
and the Revenge was safely, though slowly, sailed 
among the coral reefs and islands until she dropped 
anchor off Belize. Early in the morning the now 
dignified and pompous Captain Bonnet, of that terror 
of the seas the pirate craft Revenge , again arrayed 
himself in a manner befitting his position, and sta- 
tioned himself on the quarter-deck, where he might 
be seen by the eyes of all the crews of the other pirate 
vessels anchored about them and by the glasses of their 
officers. 

Apart from a general desire to show himself in the 
ranks of his fellow-pirates and to receive from them 
the respect which was due to a man of his capabilities 
and general merits, Stede Bonnet had a particular 
reason for his visit to this port and for surrounding 
himself with all the pomp and circumstance of high 
piratical rank. He had been informed that a great 
man, a hero and chief among his fellows,— in fact, the 
dean of the piratical faculty, and known as “ Black- 
beard,” the most desperate and reckless of all the 
pirates of the day,— was now here. 

To meet this most important sea-robber and to re- 
ceive from him the hand of fellowship had been Bon- 
net’s desire and ambition since he had heard that it 
was possible. 

The morning was advanced and the Revenge was 
rolling easily at her anchorage, but Bonnet was some- 
what uncertain as to the next step he ought to take. 
He wanted to see Blackbeard as soon as possible, but 
149 


KATE BONNET 


it would certainly be a breach of etiquette entirely 
inconsistent with his present position for him to go to 
see him. He was the latest comer, and thought it was 
the part of Blackbeard to make the first visit. 

Paul Bittern now came aft. “The men are getting 
very restless/ 7 he said; “they want to go on shore. 
They’d all go if I’d let ’em.” 

Captain Bonnet gave his sailing-master a lofty 
glare. 

“If I should let them, you mean, sir. I am sorry I 
cannot break you of the habit of forgetting that I 
command this ship. Well, sir, you may tell them that 
they cannot go. I am expecting a visit from the re- 
nowned Blackbeard, now in this port, and I wish to 
welcome him with all respect and a full crew.” 

Black Paul smiled disagreeably. “I will tell you, 
sir, that you cannot keep these men on board much 
longer with the town of Belize within a row of half a 
mile. They’ve been at sea too long for that. There’ll 
be a mutiny, sir, if I go forward with that message of 
yours. It will be prudent to let some of them go 
ashore now and others later in the day. I will go in 
the first boat and see to it that the men come back 
with me. And, by the way, it would not be a bad 
thing if I touch at Blackbeard’s vessel and inform 
him that you are here ; I don’t suppose he knows the 
Revenge , nor her captain neither.” 

“I doubt that, Bittern,” said Bonnet ; “I doubt it 
very much. I assure you that I am known from one 
end of this coast to the other, and Captain Black- 
beard is not an ignorant man. So you can go ashore 
and take some of the men, stopping at Blackbeard’s 
ship. And, by the way, I want you to go by that 
150 


A QUESTION OF ETIQUETTE 

bark of ours and give her the old black Roger I used 
to fly. I forgot to send it to her, and a man might as 
well not own and command two vessels if he get not 
the credit of it.” 

When Black Paul had gone to execute his orders, 
Ben Greenway heaved a heavy sigh. “Now I begin 
to fear, Master Bonnet, that the day o’ your salvation 
has really gone by. When ye not only murder an’ 
rob upon the high seas, but keep consort with other 
murderers an’ robbers, then I fear ye are indeed lost. 
But I shall stand by ye, Master Bonnet, I shall stand 
by ye ; an’ if ever I find there is the least bit o’ ye to 
be snatched from the flames, I’ll snatch it ! ” 

“I don’t like that sort of talk, Ben Greenway,” 
cried Bonnet, “especially at this time when my soul 
swells with content at the success which has crowned 
my undertakings. This Blackbeard is a valiant man 
and a great one, but it is my belief that when we have 
sat down to compare our notes, it will be found that 
I have captured as many cargoes, burned as many 
ships, and marooned as many people in my last cruise 
as he has.” 

“So I suppose,” said Ben, “that ye think ye hae 
achieved the right to sink deeper into hell than he 
can ever hope to do f ” 

Bonnet made no answer, but turned away. The 
Scotchman was becoming more and more odious to 
him every day, but he would not quarrel on this most 
auspicious morning. He must keep his mind un- 
ruffled and his head high. He had his own plans 
about Greenway : he was not far from Barbados, and 
when he left the harbor of Belize it would be of ad- 
vantage to his peace of mind as well as to the comfort 
151 


KATE BONNET 


of a faithful old servant if he should anchor for a little 
while in the river below the town and put Ben Green- 
way on shore. 

Ben gave no further reason for quarrelling. He 
was greatly dejected, but he had sworn to himself to 
stand by his old master, no matter what might hap- 
pen, and when he took an oath he meant what he 
swore. 

Dickory Charter was in much worse case than Ben 
Greenway. He was not much of a geographical 
scholar, but he knew that the Gulf of Honduras was 
not really very far from the island of Jamaica, where 
dwelt, waited, and watched Mistress Kate Bonnet and 
his mother. If he had known that during the voyage 
down from the Atlantic coast the Revenge had sailed 
through the Windward Passage, running in some of 
her long tacks within less than a day’s sail of Jamaica, 
he would have chafed, fumed, and fretted even more 
than he did now. 

“ Captain Bonnet,” he cried, “if you could but let 
me go on shore, I might surely find some vessel bound 
to Kingston, or to any place upon the island of Ja- 
maica, from which spot I could make my way on foot, 
even if it were on the opposite end. Thus I could 
take messages and letters from you to your daughter 
and Master Delaplaine, and ease the minds both of 
them and my mother, all of whom must now be in 
most doleful plight, not knowing anything about you 
or hearing anything from me, and this for so long a 
time ; then you could remain here with no feelings of 
haste until you had disposed of your cargoes and had 
finished your business.” 

Captain Bonnet stood loftily, with a smile of be- 
nignity upon his face. “It is a clever plan,” said he, 
152 


A QUESTION OF ETIQUETTE 

“and yon are a good fellow, Dickory $ but your scheme, 
though well-intentioned, is unsound. I have too much 
regard for you to trust you in any vessel sailing from 
Belize to Kingston, where there are often naval ves- 
sels. Going from this port, you would be as likely to 
be strung up to the yard-arm as to be allowed to go 
ashore. Be patient, then, my good fellow ; when my 
affairs are settled here, the Revenge may run up to the 
coast of Jamaica, where you may be put off at some 
quiet spot, and all may happen as you have planned, 
my good Dickory. Even now I am writing a letter, 
hoping for some such opportunity of sending it to my 
daughter.” 

Dickory sighed in despair. It might take a month 
or more before Kate’s father could settle his affairs ; 
and how long, how long it had been since his soul had 
been reaching itself out toward Kate and his mother ! 

When the sailing-master set out in the long-boat, 
crowded with men, he stopped at the bark, but did not 
go too near for fear that some of the crew might jump 
into his already overloaded boat. 

“You are to run up this rag,” cried Black Paul to 
Clip, the fellow in command ; and so saying, he handed 
up the old Jolly Roger on the blade of an oar. “Our 
noble admiral fears that if you do not that you may 
be captured by some of these good vessels lying here- 
about.” 

Clip roared out with a laugh : “I will attend to the 
capture as soon as I get out of reach of his guns, which 
he will not dare to use here, I take it. But I want 
you to know and him to know that we’re not goin’ to 
stay on board and in sight of the town. If you go 
ashore, so go we.” 

“Stay where ye are till orders come to ye,” shouted 
153 


KATE BONNET 


Black Paul, “if ye want to keep the cat off your 
backs ! ” And as he rowed away the men on the 
bark gave him a cheer and proceeded to lower two 
boats. 

From nearly every pirate ship in the anchorage the 
proceedings of the newly arrived vessels had been 
watched. No one wanted to board them or in any 
way to interfere with them until it was found out 
what they intended to do. The Revenge was a stranger 
in that harbor, although her fame was known on not 
a few pirate decks $ but if she came to Belize to fra- 
ternize with the other pirate vessels there gathered 
together, why didn’t she do it? No idea of impor- 
tance and dignity, which his position imposed upon 
Captain Stede Bonnet entered their piratical minds. 
When the long-boat put forth from the Revenge , a 
good deal of interest was excited in the anchored 
vessels. The great Blackbeard himself stood high 
upon his deck and surveyed the strangers through a 
glass. 

The men in the sailing-master’s boat rowed steadily 
toward Blackboard’s vessel. Bittern knew it well, for 
he had seen it before, and had even had the honor, so 
to speak, of having served for a short time under the 
master pirate of that day. 

As soon as the boat was near enough Blackbeard 
hailed it in a tremendous voice and ordered the 
stranger to pull up and make fast. This being done, 
a rope ladder was lowered and Bittern mounted to 
the deck, being assisted in his passage over the side 
by a tremendous pull given by Blackbeard. 

The great pirate seemed to be in high good spirits, 
and very glad to see his visitor. Blackbeard was a 
154 


A QUESTION OF ETIQUETTE 

large man, wide and heavy, and the first impression 
conveyed by his personality was that of hair and 
swarthiness. An untrimmed black beard lay upon his 
chest, and his long hair hung in masses from under 
his slouched hat ; his eyes were dark and sparkling, 
and gleamed like beacon-lights from out a midnight 
sky ; the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, and his 
arms seemed almost as hairy as his head ; two pairs of 
pistols were stuck into his belt, and a great cutlass 
was conveniently tucked up by his side. 

“Ho, ho ! ” he cried, “Black Paul ! And where do 
you come from, and what are you doing here ? And 
what is the name of that vessel with the brand-new 
Roger? Has she just gone into the business, that she 
decks herself out so fine ? Come, now ; sit here and 
have some brandy, and tell me what is the meaning of 
these two vessels coming into the harbor, and what 
you have to do with them.” 

Bittern was delighted to know that his old com- 
mander remembered him, and was ready enough to 
talk with him, for that was the errand he had come 
upon. 

“But, captain,” said he, “I am afraid to wander 
away from the gunwale, for if I have not my eye upon 
them, my men will be rowing to the town before I 
know it. They are mad to be on shore.” 

Blackbeard made no answer ; he stepped to the side 
of the vessel and looked over. “Let go ! ” he shouted 
to the man who held the boat’s rope 5 “and you rascals 
row out a dozen strokes from my vessel and keep your 
boat there ; and if you move an oar toward the town 
I will sink you ! ” With that he ordered two small 
guns to be trained upon the boat. 

155 


KATE BONNET 


The boat’s crew did not hesitate one second in obey- 
ing these orders. They knew by whom they were 
given, and there was no man in the great body of free 
companions who would disobey an order given by 
Blackbeard. They rowed to the position assigned 
them, and sat quietly looking into the mouths of the 
two cannon which were pointed toward them. 

“Now, then,” said Blackbeard, turning to Bittern, 
“I think they’ll stay there till they get some other 
order.” 

* Between frequent sips at the cup of brandy Bittern 
told the story of the Revenge , and Blackbeard listened 
with many an oath and many a pound upon his mas- 
sive knee by his mighty fist. 

“Oh, I have heard of him,” he cried, “I have heard 
of him ! He has played the devil along the Atlantic 
coast. He must be a great fellow, this— what did you 
say his name was t ” 

“Bonnet,” said the other. 

Blackbeard laughed. “That suits him well ; he 
must have clapped his name over the eyes of many a 
merchant captain ! Where did he sail before he 
hoisted the Jolly Roger? ” 

At this Bittern laughed. “He never sailed any- 
where ; he is no seaman, and if he were not rich enough 
to pay others to do his navigatin’ for him he would 
have run his vessel upon the first sand-bar on his way 
from Bridgetown to the sea. But he pays some good 
mariner to sail his Revenge , and he now pays me. I 
am, in fact, the captain of his vessel.” 

“You mean,” cried Blackbeard, “that he knows 
nothing of navigation ? ” 

“Hot a whit,” replied the other ; “he doesn’t know 
156 


A QUESTION OF ETIQUETTE 

the backstays from the taffrail. It was only yesterday 
that he thought he was already in the port of Belize, 
and dressed himself up like a fighting-cock to meet 
you.” 

“To meet me?” roared Blackbeard. “What does 
he want to meet me for, and why don’t he come and 
do it instead of sending you ? ” 

“Not he,” said Bittern. “He is a great man, if not 
a sailor ; he knows what is politeness on shipboard, 
and as he is the last comer you must be the first caller. 
He is all dressed up now, hoping that you will row 
over to the Revenge as soon as you know that he is its 
commander.” 

The hairy pirate leaned back and laughed in loud 
explosions. 

“He is a rare man, truly,” he exclaimed, “this Cap- 
tain Nightcap of yours—” 

“Bonnet,” interrupted Bittern. 

“Well, one is as good as the other,” cried Black- 
beard, “and he be well clothed if it be of the right 
color. And you started out with him to sail his ship, 
you rascal? That’s a piece of impudence almost as 
great as his own.” 

Bittern did not much like this speech, and wanted 
to explain that since he had served under Blackbeard 
he had commanded vessels himself ; but he restrained 
himself and told how Sam Loftus had been tumbled 
overboard for running afoul his captain, and how he 
had been appointed to his place. 

Now Blackbeard laughed again, with a great pound 
upon his knee. “He is a man after my own heart,” 
he shouted, “be he sailor or no sailor, this nightcap 
commander of yours. I know I shall love him ! ” 
157 


KATE BONNET 


And springing to his feet and uttering a resounding 
oath, he swore that he would visit his new brother 
that afternoon. 

“Now away with you!” cried Blackbeard, “and 
tell Sir Nightcap—” 

“Bonnet,” interrupted Bittern. 

“Well, Bonnet or Cap, it matters not to me. Bow 
straight back to your ship, and let him know that I 
shall be there, and shall expect to be received with 
admiral’s honors.” 

Bittern looked somewhat embarrassed. “But, cap- 
tain,” he said, “my men are on their way to the town, 
and I fear me they will rebel if I tell them they can- 
not now go there.” 

In saying this the sailing-master spoke not only for 
his men, but for himself. He was very anxious to go 
ashore ; he had business there : he wanted to see who 
were in the place and what was going on before Bon- 
net should go to the town. 

“What ! ” cried Blackbeard, putting his head down 
like a charging bull. “I order you to row back to 
your vessel and take my message ; and if you do it 
not I will sink you all in a bunch ! Into your boat, 
sir, and waste not another minute. If you are not 
able to command your men, I will keep you here and 
give them a cockswain who can.” 

Without another word, Bittern scuffled over the 
side, and, his boat being brought up, he dropped 
into it. 

“Now, men,” he said, “I have a message from Cap- 
tain Blackbeard to the Revenge ; bend to it as I steer 
that way.” 

“Give my pious regards to your Sir Nightcap,” 
158 


A QUESTION OF ETIQUETTE 

shouted Blackbeard. And then, in a still higher tone, 
he yelled to them that if they disobeyed their cock- 
swain and turned their bow shoreward he would sink 
them all to the unsounded depths of Hades. With- 
out a protest the men pulled vigorously toward the 
Revenge , while Black Paul, considering it a new affront 
to be called 11 cockswain” when he was in reality cap- 
tain, earnestly sent Blackbeard to the same regions to 
which he had just referred. 


159 


CHAPTER XVII 


AN ORNAMENTED BEARD 

It was about the middle of the afternoon when a 
large boat, well filled, was seen approaching the Re- 
venge from Blackbeard’s vessel. As soon as it had 
become known that this chief of all pirates of that 
day, this Edward Thatch of England, was really com- 
ing on board the Revenge , not one word was uttered 
among the crew on the subject of going ashore, al- 
though they had been long at sea. The shore could 
wait when Blackbeard was coming. Even to look 
upon this doughty desperado would be an honor and 
a joy to the brawny scoundrels who made up the crew 
of the Revenge. 

It might have been supposed that everything upon 
Captain Bonnet’s vessel had been made ready for the 
expected advent of Blackbeard ; but nothing seemed 
good enough, nothing seemed as effectively placed and 
arranged as it might have been ; and, with execrations 
and commands, Bonnet hurried here and there, mak- 
ing everything, if possible, more shipshape than it 
had been before. 

“Stay you two in the background,” he said to Ben 
Greenway and Dickory ; “you are both landsmen, and 
you don’t count in a ceremony such as this is going to 
160 


AN ORNAMENTED BEARD 


be. Station your men as I told you, Bittern, and man 
the yards when it is time.” 

Captain Bonnet, in his brave uniform and wearing 
a cocked hat with a feather, his hand upon his sword- 
hilt, stood np tall and stately. When the boat’ was 
made fast and the great pirate’s head appeared above 
the rail, six cannon roared a welcome, and Bonnet 
stepped forward, hand extended and hat uplifted. 

The instant Blackboard’s feet touched the deck he 
drew from their holsters a pair of pistols and fired 
them in the air. 

“Now, then,” he shouted, “we are even, salute for 
salute, for my pistols are more than equal to the can- 
non of any other man. How goes it with you, Sir 
Nightcap— Bonnet, I mean?” And with that he 
clasped the hand reached out to him in a bone-crush- 
ing grasp. 

His fingers aching and his brain astonished, Bonnet 
could not comprehend what sort of a man it was who 
stood before him. With hair purposely dishevelled ; 
with his hat more slouched than usual; with his beard 
divided into tails, each tied with a different-colored 
ribbon ; with half a dozen pistols strung across his 
breast ; with other pistols and a knife or two stuck 
into his belt ; with his great sword by his side ; and 
with his eyes gleaming brighter than ever, and a gen- 
eral expression, both in face and figure, of an ag- 
gressive impudence, Blackbeard stood on his stout 
legs clothed in rough red stockings, and gazed about 
him. But the captain of the 'Revenge did not forget 
his manners. He welcomed Blackbeard with all cour- 
tesy, and besought him to enter his poor cabin. 

Blackbeard laughed. “Poor cabin, say you? But 
161 


KATE BONNET 


I’ll tell you this one thing, my valiant Captain Cap : 
you have not a poor vessel, not a poor vessel ; I swear 
that to you, my brave captain, I swear that ! ” 

Then, with no attention to Bonnet’s invitation, 
Captain Blackbeard strolled about the deck, ex- 
amining everything, cursing this and praising that, 
and followed by Captain Bonnet, Black Paul, and a 
crowd of admiring pirates. 

Ben Greenway bowed his head and groaned. “I 
doubt if Master Bonnet will ever go to the de’il as I 
feared he would, for now has the de’il come to him. 
Oh, Dickory, Dickory ! this master o’ mine was a 
worthy mon an’ a good ane when I first came to him, 
an’ a’ that I hae I owe to him, for I was in sad case, 
Dickory, very sad case ; but now that he has Apollyon 
for his teacher, he’ll cease to know righteousness alto- 
gither.” 

Dickory was angry and out of spirits. “He is a vile 
poltroon, this master of yours,” said he, “consorting 
with these bloody pirates and leaving his daughter to 
pine away her days and nights within a little sail of 
him, while he struts about at the heel of a dirty free- 
booter dressed like a monkey ! He doesn’t deserve 
the daughter he possesses. Oh, that I could find a 
ship that would take me back to Jamaica ! And I 
would take you too, Ben Greenway, for it is a foul 
shame that a good man should spend his days in such 
vile company.” 

Ben shook his head. “I’ll stand by Master Bonnet,” 
he said, “until the day comes when I shall bid him 
fareweel at the door o’ hell. I can go no farther than 
that, Dickory, no farther than that ! ” 

162 


AN ORNAMENTED BEARD 


From forecastle to quarter-deck, from bowsprit to 
taffrail, Blackbeard scrutinized the Revenge. 

“What mean you, dog? ” he said to Bittern, Bonnet 
being at a little distance. “You tell me he is no mari- 
ner. This is a brave ship and well appointed.” 

“Ay, ay,” said the sailing-master ; “it has the neat- 
ness of his kitchen or his storehouses ; but if his cables 
were coiled on his yard-arms or his anchor hung up 
to dry upon the main shrouds, he would not know that 
anything was wrong. It was Big Sam Loftus who 
fitted out the Revenge , and I myself have kept every- 
thing in good order and shipshape ever since I took 
command.” 

“Command ! ” growled Blackbeard. “For a charge 
of powder I would knock in the side of your head for 
speaking with such disrespect of the brave Sir Night- 
cap.” 

The supper in the cabin of the Revenge was a better 
meal than the voracious Blackbeard had partaken of 
for many a year, if indeed he had ever sat down to 
such a sumptuous repast. Before him was food and 
drink fit for a stout and hungry seafaring man, and 
there were wines and dainties which would have had 
fit place upon the table of a gentleman. 

Blackbeard was in high spirits, and tossed off cup 
after cup and glass after glass of the choicest wine and 
the most fiery spirits. He clapped his well-mannered 
host upon the back as he shouted some fragment of a 
wild sea-song. 

“And who is this?” he cried, as they rose from the 
table and he first caught sight of Ben Greenway. “Is 
this your chaplain? He looks as sanctimonious as an 
163 


KATE BONNET 


empty rum-cask. And that baby boy there, what do 
you keep him for? Are they for sale? I would like 
to buy the boy and let him keep my accounts. I 
warrant he has enough arithmetic in his head to divide 
the prize-moneys among the men.” 

“He is no slave,” said Bonnet; “he came to this 
vessel to bring me a message from my daughter, but 
he is an ill-bred stripling, and can neither read nor 
write.” 

“Then let’s kill him ! ” cried Blackbeard, and draw- 
ing his pistol he sent a bullet about two inches above 
Dickory’s head. 

At this the men who had gathered themselves at 
every available point set up a cheer. Never before 
had they beheld such a magnificent and reckless mis- 
creant. 

Dickory did not start or move, but he turned very 
pale, and then he reddened and his eyes flashed. 
Blackbeard swore at him a great approbative oath. 
“A brave boy ! ” he cried, “and fit to carry messages, 
if for nothing else. And what is this nonsense about 
a daughter? ” said he to Bonnet. “We abide no such 
creatures in the ranks of the free companions ; we 
drown them like kittens before we hoist the Jolly 
Boger.” 

When Blackbeard’s boat left the ship’s side the 
departing chieftain fired his pistols in the air as long 
as their charges lasted, while the motley desperadoes 
of the Revenge gave him many a parting yell. Then 
all the boats of the Revenge were lowered, and every 
man who could crowd into them left their ship for 
the shore. Black Paul tried to restrain them, for he 
feared to leave the Revenge too weakly manned, she 
164 


AN ORNAMENTED BEARD 


having such a valuable cargo ; but his orders and 
shouts were of no avail, and despairing of stopping 
them, the sailing-master went with them ; and as they 
pulled wildly toward the town the men of one boat 
shouted to another, and that one to another, “ Hurrah 
for our captain, the brave Sir Nightcap ! Hurrah ! 
Hurrah ! Hurrah ! ” 

“The dirty Satan ! ” exclaimed Hickory, as he gazed 
after Blackbeard’s boat. “I would kill him if I could.” 

“Say not so, Hickory,” said Captain Bonnet, speak- 
ing gravely. i L That great pirate is not a man of breed- 
ing, and he speaks with disesteem alike of friend and 
enemy $ but he is the famous Blackbeard, and we must 
treat him with honor, although he pays us none.” 

“I had deemed,” said Greenway, calmly, “that ye 
were goin’ to be the maist unholy sinner that ever 
blackened this fair earth ; but not only did ye tell a 
pious lie for the sake o’ good Hickory, but, compared 
wi’ that monstrosity, ye are a saint graved in marble, 
Master Bonnet, a white an’ shapely saint.” 

Blackbeakd’s boat was not rowed to his vessel, but 
his men pulled steadily shoreward. 

With the wild crew of the Revenge fresh from sea 
and their appetites whetted for jovial riot, and with 
Blackbeard, his war-paint on, to lead them into every 
turbulent excess, there were wild times in the town 
of Belize that night. 


165 


CHAPTER XVIII 


I HAVE NO RIGHT; I AM A PIRATE 

AS has been made plain, Captain Bonnet of the Re- 
venge was a punctilious man when the rules of society 
were concerned, be that society official, high-toned, 
or piratical. Thus it was a positive duty, in his mind, 
to return Blackboard’s visit on the next day ; but until 
afternoon he was not able to do so on account of the 
difficulty of getting a sober and decently behaved 
boat’s crew who should row him over. 

Black Paul, the sailing-master, had returned to his 
vessel early in the morning, feeling the necessity of 
keeping watch over the cargo ; but most of the men 
came over much later, while some of them did not 
come at all. 

Bonnet was greatly inclined to punish with an un- 
wonted severity this breach of rules ; but Black Paul 
assured him that it was always the custom for the 
crew of a newly arrived vessel to go ashore and have a 
good time, and that if they were denied this privilege 
they would be sure to mutiny, and he might be left 
without any crew at all. Bonnet grumbled and swore, 
but, as he was aware there were several things con- 
cerning a nautical life with which he was not familiar, 
he determined to let pass this trespass. 

166 


I AM A PIRATE 


Dressed in his finest clothes, and even better than 
the day before, he was followed into the boat by Ben 
Greenway, who vowed his captain should never travel 
without his chaplain, who, if his words were con- 
sidered, would be the most valuable officer on the 
vessel. 

“Come, then, Greenway,” said Bonnet ; “you have 
troubled me so much on my own vessel that now, 
perchance, you may be able to do me some service on 
that of another. Anyway, I should like to have at 
least one decent person in my train, who, an you come 
not, will be wholly missing. And Dickory may come 
too, if he like it.” 

But Dickory did not like it. He hated the big 
black pirate, and cared not if he should never see him 
again, so he stayed behind. 

When Bonnet mounted to the deck of Blackbeard’s 
vessel he found there a very different pirate captain 
from the one who had called upon him the day before. 
There were no tails to the great black beard, there 
were few pistols visible, and Captain Bonnet’s host 
received him with a certain salt-soaked, sun-browned, 
hairy, and brawny hospitality which did not sit badly 
upon him. There was meat, there was drink, and 
then the two captains and Greenway walked gravely 
over the vessel, followed by a hundred eyes, and be- 
fore long by many a coarse and jeering laugh which 
Bonnet supposed were directed at sturdy Ben Green- 
way, deeming it quite natural, though improper, that 
the derision of these rough fellows should be excited 
by the appearance among them of a prim and sedate 
Scotch Presbyterian. 

But that crew of miscreants had all heard of the 
167 


KATE BONNET 


derisive title which had been given to Bonnet, and 
now they saw without the slightest difficulty how little 
he knew of the various nautical points to which Black- 
beard continually called his attention. 

The vessel was dirty ; it was ill appointed ; there 
was an air of reckless disorder which showed itself 
everywhere : but, apart from his evident distaste for 
dirt and griminess, the captain of the Revenge seemed 
to be very well satisfied with everything he saw. When 
he passed a small gun pointed across the deck, and with 
a nightcap hung upon a capstan-bar thrust into its 
muzzle, there was such a great laugh that Bonnet 
looked around to see what the imprudent Greenway 
might be doing. 

Many were the nautical points to which Blackbeard 
called his guest’s attention and many the questions the 
grim pirate asked ; but in almost all cases of the kind 
the tall gentleman with the cocked hat replied that 
he generally left those things to his sailing-master, 
being so much occupied with matters of more import. 

Although he found no fault and made no criticisms, 
Bonnet was very much disgusted. Such a disorderly 
vessel, such an apparently lawless crew, excited his 
most severe mental strictures ; and although the great 
Blackbeard was to-day a very well-behaved person, 
Bonnet could not understand how a famous and suc- 
cessful captain should permit his vessel and his crew 
to get into such an unseamanlike and disgraceful con- 
dition. On board the Revenge , as his sailing-master 
had remarked, there was the neatness of his kitchen 
and his storehouses ; and although he did not always 
know what to do with the nautical appliances which 
surrounded him, he knew how to make them look in 
168 


I AM A PIRATE 


good order. But he made few remarks, favorable or 
otherwise, and held himself loftier than before, with 
an air as if he might have been an admiral entire in- 
stead of resembling one only in clothes, and with cere- 
monious and even condescending politeness followed 
his host wherever he was led, above decks or below. 

Ben Greenway had gone with his master about the 
ship with much of the air of one who accompanies a 
good friend to the place of execution. Regardless of 
gibes or insults, whether they were directed at Bonnet 
or himself, he turned his face neither to the right nor 
to the left, and apparently regarded nothing that he 
heard. But while endeavoring to listen as little as 
possible to what was going on around him, he heard a 
great deal ; but, strange to say, the railing and scur- 
rility of the pirates did not appear to have a depress- 
ing influence upon his mind. In fact, he seemed in 
somewhat better spirits than when he came on board. 

“ Whatever he may do, whatever he may say, an’ 
whatever he may swear,” said the Scotchman to him- 
self, “he is no’ like ane o’ these. Try as he may, he 
canna descend so low into the blackness o’ evil as these 
sons o’ perdition. Although he has done evil beyond 
a poor mortal’s computation, he walks like a king 
amang them. Even that Blackbeard, striving to be 
decent for an hour or two, knows a superior when he 
meets him.” 

When they had finished the tour of the vessel, Black- 
beard conducted his guest to his own cabin and invited 
him to be seated by a little table. Bonnet sat down, 
placing his high -plumed cocked hat upon the bench 
beside him. He did not want anything more to eat 
or to drink, and he was, in fact, quite ready to take 
169 


KATE BONNET 


his leave. The vessel had not pleased him and had 
given him an idea of the true pirate’s life which he 
had never had before. On the Revenge he mingled lit- 
tle with the crew, scarcely ever below decks, and his 
own quarters were as neat and commodious as if they 
were on a fine vessel carrying distinguished passengers. 
Dirt and disorder, if they existed, were at least not 
visible to him. 

But although he had no desire ever to make another 
visit to the ship of the great Blackbeard, he would re- 
member his position and be polite and considerate 
now that he was here. Moreover, the savage despe- 
rado of the day before, dressed like a monkey and 
howling like an Indian, seemed now to be endeavoring 
to soften himself a little and to lay aside some of his 
savage eccentricities in honor of the captain of that 
fine ship the Revenge. So, clothed in a calm dignity, 
Bonnet waited to hear what his host had further to say. 

Blackbeard seated himself on the other side of the 
table, on which he rested his massive arms. Behind 
him Ben Greenway stood in the doorway. For a few 
moments Blackbeard sat and gazed at Bonnet, and then 
he said : “Look ye, Stede Bonnet j do you know you 
are now as much out of place as a red herring would 
be at the top of the mainmast? ” 

Bonnet flushed. “I fear, Captain Blackbeard,” he 
said, “I very much fear me that you are right. This is 
no place for me. I have paid my respects to you, and 
now, if you please, I will take my leave. I have not 
been gratified by the conduct of your crew, but I did 
not expect that their captain would address me in 
such discourteous words.” And with this he reached 
out his hand for his hat. 


170 


I AM A PIRATE 

Blackbeard brought down his hand heavily upon 
the table. 

“Sit where you are ! ” he exclaimed. “I have that 
to say to you which you shall hear^ whether you like 
my vessel, my crew, or me. You are no sailor, Stede 
Bonnet of Bridgetown, and you don’t belong to the 
free companions, who are all good men and true and 
can sail the ships they command. Y ou are a defrauder 
and a cheat ,• you are nothing but a landsman, a plough- 
tail sugar-planter ! ” 

At this insult Bonnet rose to his feet and his hand 
went to his sword. 

“Sit down ! ” roared Blackbeard. “An you do not 
listen to me, I’ll cut off this parley and your head to- 
gether. Sit down, sir.” 

Bonnet sat down, pale now and trembling with rage. 
He was not a coward, but on board this ship he must 
give heed to the words of the desperado who com- 
manded it. 

“You have no right,” continued Blackbeard, “to 
strut about on the quarter-deck of that fine vessel the 
Revenge ; you have no right to hoist above you the 
Jolly Roger • and you have no right to lie right and 
left and tell people you are a pirate. A pirate, for- 
sooth ! You are no pirate. A pirate is a sailor, and 
you are no sailor ! You are no better than a blind 
man led by a dog : if the dog breaks away from him 
he is lost, and if the sailing-masters you pick up one 
after another break away from you, you are lost. It 
is a cursed shame, Stede Bonnet, and it shall be no 
longer. At this moment, by my own right and for 
the sake of every man who sails under the Jolly Roger, 
I take away from you the command of the Revenge .” 

171 


KATE BONNET 


Now Bonnet could not refrain from springing to his 
feet. “Take from me the Revenge!” he cried— “my 
own vessel, bought with my own money ! And how 
say you I am not a pirate? From Massachusetts 
down the coast into these very waters I have preyed 
upon commerce, I have taken prizes, I have burned 
ships, I have made my name a terror.” 

Now his voice grew stronger and his tones more 
angry. 

“Not a pirate!” he cried. “Go ask the galleons 
and the merchantmen I have stripped and burned ; 
go ask their crews, now wandering in misery upon 
desert shores if they be not already dead. And by 
what right, I ask, do you come to such an one as I am 
and declare that, having put me in the position of a 
prisoner on your ship, you will take away my own ? ” 

Blackbeard gazed at him with half-closed eyes, a 
malicious smile upon his face. 

“I have no right,” he said ; “I need no right. I am 
a pirate ! ” 

At these words Bonnet’s legs weakened under him, 
and he sank down upon the bench. As he did so he 
glanced at Ben Greenway as if he were the only per- 
son on earth to whom he could look for help ; but, to 
his amazement, he saw before him a face almost jubi- 
lant, and beheld the Scotchman, his eyes uplifted and 
his hands clasped as if in thankful prayer. 


172 


CHAPTER XIX 

THE NEW FIRST LIEUTENANT 

When the boat of the Revenge was pulled back to 
that vessel Bonnet did not go in it ; it was Blackbeard 
who sat in the stern and held the tiller, while one of 
his own men sat by him. 

When Blackbeard stepped on deck he announced, 
much to the delight of the crew and the consternation 
of Paul Bittern, that the Revenge now belonged to him, 
and that all the crew who were fit to be kept on board 
such a fine vessel would be retained, and that he him- 
self, for the present at least, would take command of 
the ship, would haul down that brand-new bit of 
woman’s work at the masthead and fly in its place 
his own black, ragged Jolly Roger, dreaded wherever 
seen upon the sea. At this a shout went up from the 
crew; the heart of every scoundrel among them 
swelled with joy at the idea of sailing, fighting, and 
pillaging under the bloody Blackbeard. 

But the sailing-master stood aghast. He had known 
very well what was going to happen ; he had talked 
it all over in the town with Blackbeard ; he had drunk 
in fiery brandy to the success of the scheme, and he 
had believed without a doubt that he was to command 


173 


KATE BONNET 


the Revenge when Bonnet should be deposed. And 
now where was he? Where did he stand? 

Trembling a little, he approached Blackbeard. 
“And as for me,” he asked, “am I to command your 
old vessel ? ” 

“You ! ” roared Blackbeard, making as if he would 
jump upon him. “You ! You may fall to and bend 
your back with the others in the forecastle, or you 
can jump overboard if you like. My quartermaster, 
Richards, now commands my old vessel. Presently 
I shall go over and settle things on that bark 5 but 
first I shall step down into the cabin and see what 
rare good things Sir Nightcap the sugar-planter has 
prepared for me.” 

With this he went below, followed by the man he 
had brought with him. 

It was Dickory, half dazed by what he had heard, 
who now stepped up to Paul Bittern. The latter, his 
countenance blacker than it had ever been before, 
first scowled at him, but in a moment the ferocity left 
his glance. 

“Oho ! ” he said, “here’s a pretty pickle for me and 
you, as well as for Bonnet and the Scotchman ! ” 

“Do you suppose,” exclaimed Dickory, “that what 
he says is true? That he has stolen this ship from 
Captain Bonnet, and that he has taken it for his 
own ? ” 

“Suppose ! ” sneered the other. “I know it. He 
has stolen from me as well as from Bonnet. I should 
have commanded this ship, and I had made all my 
plans to do it when I got here.” 

“Then you are as great a rascal,” said Dickory, “as 
that vile pirate down below.” 

174 


THE NEW FIRST LIEUTENANT 

“Just as great,” said Bittern, “the only difference 
being that he has won everything, while I have lost 
everything.” 

“What are we to do?” asked Dickory. “I cannot 
stay here, and I am sure you will not want to. Now, 
while he is below, can we not slip overboard and swim 
ashore ? I am sure I could do it.” 

Black Paul grinned grimly. “But where should we 
swim to ? ” he said. “On the coast of Honduras there 
is no safety for a man who flees from Blackbeard. 
But keep your tongue close ; he is coming.” 

The moment Blackbeard put his foot upon the deck 
he began to roar out his general orders. 

“I go over to the bark,” he said, “and shall put my 
mate here in charge of her. After that I go to my 
own vessel, and when I have settled matters there I 
will return to this fine ship, where I shall strut about 
the quarter-deck and live like a prince at sea. Now 
look ye, youngster, what is your name ? ” 

“Charter,” replied Dickory, grimly. 

“Well then, Charter,” the pirate continued, “I 
shall leave you in charge of this vessel until I come 
back, which will be before dark.” 

“Me ! ” exclaimed Dickory, in amazement. 

“Yes, you,” said the pirate. “I am sure you don’t 
know anything about a ship any more than your mas- 
ter did, but he got on very well, and so may you. And 
now, remember, your head shall pay for it if every- 
thing is not the same when I come back as it is now.” 

Thereupon this man of piratical business was rowed 
to the bark, quite satisfied that he left behind him no 
one who would have the power to tamper with his 
interests. He knew the crew, having bound most of 
175 


KATE BONNET 


them to him on the preceding night, and he trusted 
every one of them to obey the man he had set over 
them and no other. As Dickory would have no orders 
to give, there would be no need of obedience, and 
Black Paul would have no chance to interfere with 
anything. 

When Bonnet had been left by Blackbeard— who, 
having said all he had to say, hurried up the com- 
panionway to attend to the rest of his plans— the 
stately naval officer who had so recently occupied 
the bench by the table shrunk into a frightened 
farmer gazing blankly at Ben Greenway. 

“Think you, Ben,” he said in half a voice, “that 
this is one of that man’s jokes? I have heard that he 
has a fearful taste for horrid jokes.” 

The Scotchman shook his head. “Joke ! Master 
Bonnet,” he exclaimed, “it is no joke. He has ta’en 
your ship from ye ; he has ta’en from ye your sword, 
your pistols, an’ your wicked black flag, an’ he has 
made evil impossible to ye. He has ta’en from ye the 
shame an’ the wretched wickedness o’ bein’ a pirate. 
Think o’ that, Master Bonnet ! Ye are no longer a 
pirate. That most devilish o’ all demons has pre- 
sarved the rest o’ your life from the dishonor an’ the 
infamy which ye were laborin’ to heap upon it. Ye 
are a poor mon now, Master Bonnet. That Beelzebub 
will strip from ye everything ye had ; all your riches 
shall be his. Ye can no longer afford to be a pirate ; 
ye will be compelled to be an honest mon. An’ I tell 
ye that my soul lifteth itsel’ in thanksgivin’ an’ my 
heart is happier than it has been since that fearsome 
day when ye went on board your vessel at Bridge- 
town.” 


176 


THE NEW FIRST LIEUTENANT 


“Ben,” said Bonnet, “it is hard and it is cruel that 
in this, the time of my great trouble, you turn upon 
me. I have been robbed ; I have been ruined ; my 
life is of no more use to me : and you, Ben Greenway, 
revile me while that I am prostrate.” 

“Revile ! ” said the Scotchman. “I glory, I re- 
joice ! Ye hae been converted, ye hae been changed, 
ye hae been snatched from the jaws o’ hell. More- 
over, Master Bonnet, my soul was rejoiced even before 
that master de’il came to set ye free from your toils— 
to look upon ye an’ see that, although ye called your- 
sel’ a pirate, ye were no like ane o’ these black-hearted 
cutthroats. Ye were never as wicked, Master Bon- 
net, as ye said ye were ! ” 

“You are mistaken,” groaned Bonnet; “I tell you, 
Ben Greenway, you are mistaken ; I am just as wicked 
as I ever was. And I was very wicked, as you should 
admit, knowing what I have done. Oh, Ben, Ben ! 
Is it true that I shall never go on board my good ship 
again ? ” 

And with this he spread his arms upon the table 
and laid his head upon them. He felt as if his career 
was ended and his heart broken. Ben Greenway said 
no more to comfort him, but at that moment he him- 
self was the happiest man on the Caribbean Sea. He 
seated himself in the dirty little cabin, and his soul 
saw visions. He saw his master deprived of all his 
belongings, and with them of every taint of piracy, 
and put on shore, accompanied, of course, by his faith- 
ful servant. He saw a ship sail, perhaps soon, per- 
haps later, for Jamaica. He saw the blithe Mistress 
Kate, her soul no longer sorrowing for an erring father, 
come on board that vessel and sail with him for good 
old Bridgetown. He saw everything explained, every - 
177 


KATE BONNET 


thing forgotten. He saw before the dear old family 
a life of happiness,— perhaps he saw the funeral of 
Madam Bonnet,— and, better than all, he saw the 
pirate dead, the good man revived again. 

To be sure, he did not see Hickory Charter return- 
ing to his old home with his mother, for he could not 
know what Blackbeard was going to do with that 
young fellow ; but as Dickory had thought of him 
when he had escaped with Kate from the Revenge , so 
thought he now of Dickory. There were so many 
other important things which bore upon the situation 
that he was not able even to consider the young 
fellow. 

It did not take very long for a man of practical 
devilishness such as Blackbeard was to finish the 
business which had called him away, and he soon re- 
appeared in the cabin. 

“Ho, there ! good Sir Nightcap,— and I may freely 
call you that since now I own you, uniform, cocked 
hat, title, and everything else,— don’t cry yourself to 
sleep like a baby when its toys are taken away from 
it, but wake up. I have a bit of liking for you, and 
I believe that that is because you are clean. Not 
having that virtue myself, I admire it the more in 
others, and I thank you from my inmost soul— wher- 
ever that may be— for having provided such comely 
quarters and such fair accommodations for me while 
I shall please to sail the Revenge . But I shall not con- 
demn you to idleness and cankering thoughts, my bold 
blusterer, my terror of the sea, my harrier of the coast, 
my haunter of the Jolly Roger washed clean in the 
tub with soap $ I shall give you work to do which 
shall better suit you than the troublesome trade you’ve 
178 


THE NEW FIRST LIEUTENANT 


been trying to learn. You write well and read— I 
know that, my good Sir Nightcap ; and, moreover, 
you are a fair hand at figures. I have great work 
before me in landing and selling the fine cargoes you 
have brought me, and in counting and dividing the 
treasure you have locked in your iron-bound chests. 
And you shall attend to all that, my reformed cut- 
throat, my regenerated sea-robber. You shall have a 
room of your own, where you can take off that brave 
uniform and where you can do your work and keep 
your accounts and so shall be happier than you ever 
were before, feeling that you are in your right place.” 

To all this Stede Bonnet did not answer a word j he 
did not even raise his head. 

“And now for you, my chaplain,” said Blackbeard, 
suddenly turning toward Ben Greenway ; “what would 
you like? Would it suit you better to go overboard 
or to conduct prayers for my pious crew? ” 

“I would stay wi’ my master,” said the Scotchman, 
quietly. 

The pirate looked steadily at Greenway. “Oho !” 
said he, “you are a sturdy fellow, and have a mind to 
speak from. Being so stiff yourself, you may be able 
to stiffen a little this rag of a master of yours and 
help him to understand the work he has to do, which 
he will bravely do, I ween, when he finds that to be 
my clerk is his career. Ha, ha ! Sir Nightcap, the 
pirate of the pen and ink ! ” 

Deeply sunk these words into Stede Bonnet’s heart, 
but he made no sign. 

When Blackbeard went back to the Revenge he took 
with him all of his own effects which he cared for, and 
he also took the ex-pirate’s uniform, cocked hat, and 
179 


KATE BONNET 


sword. “I may have use for them,” he said, “and my 
clerk can wear common clothes like common people . 77 

When her new commander reached the Revenge , Dick- 
ory immediately approached him and earnestly be- 
sought him that he might be sent to join Captain 
Bonnet and Ben Green way. “They are my friends / 7 
said Dickory, “and I have none here, and I have 
brought a message to Captain Bonnet from his daugh- 
ter, and it is urgently necessary that I return with 
one from him to her. I must instantly endeavor to 
find a ship which is bound for Jamaica and sail upon 
her. I have nothing to do with this ship, having 
come on board of her simply to carry my message, and 
it behooves me that I return quickly to those who sent 
me, else injury may come of it . 77 

“I like your speech, my boy, I like your speech ! 77 
cried Blackbeard, and he roared out a big laugh. 

Urgently necessary 7 you must do this, you must do 
that. It is so long since I have heard such words that 
they come to me like wine from a cool vault . 77 

At this Dickory flushed hot, but he shut his mouth. 

“You are a brave fellow , 77 cried Blackbeard, “and 
above the common ; you are above the common. There 
is that in your eye that could never be seen in the eye 
of a sugar-planter. You will make a good pirate . 77 

“Pirate ! 77 cried Dickory, losing all sense of pru- 
dence. “I would sooner be a wild beast in the forest 
than to be a pirate ! 77 

Blackbeard laughed loudly. “A good fellow, a 
brave fellow ! 77 he cried. “No man who has not the 
soul of a pirate within him could stand on his legs and 
speak those words to me. Sail to Jamaica to carry 
messages to girls? Never ! You shall stay with me. 

180 


THE NEW FIRST LIEUTENANT 


You shall be a pirate. You shall be the head of all 
the pirates when I give up the business and take to 
sugar-planting. Ha, ha! When I take to sugar- 
planting and merrily make my own good rum ! ” 

Dickory was dismayed. “But, Captain Blackbeard,” 
he said, with more deference than before, “I cannot.” 

“Cannot ! ” shouted the pirate. “You lie ; you can. 
Say not cannot to me ; you can do anything I tell you, 
and do it you shall. And now I am going to put you 
in your place, and see that you hold it and fill it. And 
if you please me not, you carry no more messages in 
this world, nor receive them. Charter, I now make 
you the first officer of the Revenge under me. You 
cannot be mate, because you know nothing of sailing 
a ship 5 and, besides, no mate nor any quartermaster 
is worthy to array himself as I shall array you. I 
make you first lieutenant, and you shall wear the uni- 
form and the cocked hat which Sir Nightcap hath no 
further use for.” 

With that he went forward to speak to some of the 
men, leaving Dickory standing speechless, with the 
expression of an infuriated idiot. Black Paul stepped 
up to him. 

“How now, youngster ? ” said the ex-sailing-master. 
“First officer, eh? If you look sharp, you may find 
yourself in fine feather.” 

“No, I will not,” answered Dickory. “I will have 
nothing to do with this black pirate. I will not serve 
under him ; I will not take charge of anything for 
him ; I am ashamed to talk with him, to be on the same 
ship with him. I serve good people, the best and 
noblest in the world, and I will not enter any service 
under him.” 


181 


KATE BONNET 


“Hold ye, hold ye ! ” said Black Paul. “You will not 
serve the good people you speak of by going over- 
board with a bullet in your head. Think of that, 
youngster. It is a poor way of helping your friends 
by quitting the world and leaving them in the lurch.” 

At this moment Blackbeard returned, and when he 
saw Bittern he roared at him : “Out of that, you sea- 
cat ! And if I see you again speaking to my lieutenant, 
I’ll slash your ears for you. In the next boat which 
leaves this ship I shall send you to one of the others ; 
I will have no sneaking schemer on board the Be- 
venge. Get ye for’ard, get ye for’ard, or I shall help ye 
with my cutlass ! ” 

And the man who had safely brought two good 
ships, richly laden, into the harbor of Belize, and who 
had given Blackbeard the information which made 
him understand the character of Captain Bonnet and 
how easy it would be to take possession of his person 
and his vessels, and who had done everything in his 
power to enable the black-hearted pirate to secure to 
himself Bonnet’s property and crews, and who had 
only asked in return an actual command where before 
he had commanded in fact though not in name, fled 
away from the false confederate to whom he had just 
given wealth and increased prestige. 

The last words of the unfortunate Bittern sank 
quickly and deeply into the heart of Hickory. If he 
should really go overboard with a bullet in his brain, 
farewell to Kate Bonnet, farewell to his mother ! He 
was yet a very young man, and it had been but a 
little while since he had been wandering barefooted 
over the ships at Bridgetown, selling the fruit of his 
mother’s little farm. Since that he had loved and 
182 


THE NEW FIRST LIEUTENANT 


lived so long that he could not calculate the period ; 
and now he was a man and stood trembling at the 
point where he was to decide to begin life as a pirate 
or end everything. Before Blackbeard had turned 
his lowering visage from his retreating benefactor, 
Dickory had decided that, whatever might happen, 
he would not of his own free will leave life and fair 
Kate Bonnet. 

“And so you are to be my first lieutenant,” said 
Blackbeard, his face relaxing. “I am glad of that. 
There was nothing needed on this ship but a decent 
man. I have put one on my old vessel, and if there 
were another to be found in the Gulf of Honduras, I’d 
clap him on that goodly bark. Now, sir, down to 
your berth and don your naval finery. You’re al- 
ways to wear it ; you’re not fit to wear the clothes of 
a real sailor, and I have no landsman’s toggery on 
this ship.” 

Dickory bowed— he could not speak— and went 
below. When next he appeared on deck he wore the 
ex-Captain Bonnet’s uniform and the tall plumed hat. 

“It is for Kate’s sweet sake,” he said to himself as 
he mounted the companionway ; “for her sake I’d 
wear anything, I’d do anything, if only I may see her 
again.” 

When the new first lieutenant showed himself upon 
the quarter-deck there was a general howl from the 
crew, and peal after peal of derisive laughter rent 
the air. 

Then Blackbeard stepped quietly forward and or- 
dered eight of the jeerers to be strung up and flogged. 

“I would like you all to remember,” said the master 
pirate, “that when I appoint an officer on this ship, 
183 


KATE BONNET 


there is to be no sneering at him nor any want of 
respect, and it strikes me that I shall not have to say 
anything more on the subject— to this precious crew, 
at any rate.” 

The next day lively times began on board the two 
rich prizes which the pirate Blackbeard had lately 
taken. There had been scarcely more hard work 
and excitement, cursing and swearing, when the rich 
freight had been taken from the merchantmen which 
had originally carried it. Poor Bonnet’s pen worked 
hard at lists and calculations, for Blackbeard was a 
practical man, and not disposed to loose and liberal 
dealings with either his men or the tradefolk ashore. 

At times the troubled and harassed mind of the 
former captain of the Revenge would have given way 
under the strain had not Ben Greenway stayed bravely 
by him ; who, although a slow accountant, was sure, 
and a great help to one who, in these times of hurry 
and flurry, was extremely rapid and equally uncer- 
tain. Blackbeard was everywhere, anxious to com- 
plete the unloading and disposal of his goods before 
the weather changed ; but, wherever he went, he 
remembered that upon the quarter-deck of his fine 
new ship the Revenge there was one who, knowing 
nothing of nautical matters, was above all suspicion 
of nautical interferences, and who, although having 
no authority, represented the most powerful nautical 
commander in all those seas. 


184 


CHAPTER XX 


ONE NORTH, ONE SOUTH 

If our dear Kate Bonnet had really imagined, in her 
inexperienced mind, that it would be a matter of days, 
and perhaps weeks, to procure a vessel in which she, 
with her uncle and good Dame Charter, could sail 
forth to save her father, she was wonderfully mis- 
taken. Hot a free-footed vessel of any class came 
into the harbor of Kingston. Sloops and barks and 
ships in general arrived and departed, but they were 
all bound by one contract or another, and were not 
free to sail away here and there, for a short time or 
a long time, at the word of a maiden’s will. 

Master Delaplaine was a rich man, but he was a 
prudent one, and he had not the money to waste in 
wild rewards, even if there had been an opportunity 
for him to offer them. Kate was disconcerted, disap- 
pointed, and greatly cast down. 

The vengeful captain of the Badger was scouring the 
seas in search of her father, commissioned to destroy 
him, and eager in his hot passion to do it ; and here 
was she with a respite for that father, if only she were 
able to carry it. 

Day after day Kate waited for notice of a craft, not 
185 


KATE BONNET 


only one which might bring Dickory back but one 
which might carry her away. 

The optimism of Dame Charter would not now bear 
her up ; the load which had been put upon it was too 
big. Everything about her was melancholy and de- 
pressed, and Dickory had not come back. So many 
things had happened since he went away, and so many 
days had passed, and she had entirely exhaustedEer 
plentiful stock of very good reasons why her son had 
not been able to return to her. 

The governor was very kind; frequently he came 
to the Delaplaine mansion, and always he brought 
assurances that, although he had not heard anything 
from Captain Vince, there was every reason to sup- 
pose that before long he would find some way to send 
him his commands that Captain Bonnet should not be 
injured, but should be brought back safely to Jamaica. 

And then Kate would say, with tears in her eyes : 
“But, your Excellency, we cannot wait for that : we 
must go ; we ourselves must deliver your message to 
the captain of the Badger . Who else will do it ? And 
we cannot trust to chance ; while we are trusting and 
hoping, my father may die.” 

At such moments Master Delaplaine would some- 
times say in his heart, not daring to breathe such 
thoughts aloud : u And what could be better than that 
he should die and be done with it? He is a thorn in 
the side of the young, the good, and the beautiful, and 
as long as he lives that thorn will rankle.” 

Moreover, not only did the good merchant harbor 
such a wicked thought, but Dame Charter thought 
something of the very same kind, though differently 
expressed. If he had never been born, she would say 
186 


ONE NORTH, ONE SOUTH 


to herself, how much better it would have been j but 
then the thought would come crowding in, how bad 
that would have been for Dickory and for the plans 
she was making for him. 

In the midst of all this uncertainty, this anxiety, 
this foreboding, almost this despair, there came a 
sunburst which lighted up the souls of these three 
good people, which made their eyes sparkle and their 
hearts swell with thankfulness. This happiness came 
in the shape of a letter from Martin Newcombe. 

The letter was a long one and told many things. 
The first part of it Kate read to herself and kept to 
herself, for in burning words it assured her that he 
loved her and would always love her, and that no 
misfortune of her own or wrong-doings of others could 
prevent him from offering her his most ardent and 
unchangeable affection. Moreover, he begged and 
implored her to accept that affection, to accept it now, 
that it’, might belong to her forever. Happiness, he 
said, seemed opening before her ; he implored her to 
allow him to share that happiness with her. The rest 
of the letter was read most jubilantly aloud. It told 
of news which had come to Newcombe from Honduras 
Gulf— great news, wonderful news, which would make 
the heart sing. Major Bonnet was at Belize. He had 
given up all connection with piracy and was now en- 
gaged in mercantile pursuits. This was positively 
true, for the person who had sent the news to Bridge- 
town had seen Major Bonnet and had talked to him, 
and had been informed by him that he had given up 
his ship and was now an accountant and commission 
agent doing business at that place. 

The sender of this great news also stated that Ben 
187 


KATE BONNET 


Greenway was with Major Bonnet, working as his 
assistant, and — here Dame Charter sat open-mouthed 
and her heart nearly stopped beating— young Dickory 
Charter had also been in the port and had gone away, 
but was expected ere long to return. 

Kate stood on her tiptoes and waved the letter over 
her head. 

“To Belize, my dear uncle, to Belize ! If we cannot 
get there any other way we must go in a boat with 
oars. We must fly ; we must not wait. Perhaps he 
is seeking in disguise to escape the vengeance of the 
wicked Vince. But that matters not ; we know where 
he is. We must fly, uncle ; we must fly ! ” 

The opportunities for figurative flying were not 
wanting. There were no vessels in the port which 
might be engaged for an indeterminate voyage in pur- 
suit of a British man-of-war, but there was a goodly 
brig about to sail in ballast for Belize. Before sun- 
set three passages were engaged upon this brig. 

Kate sat long into the night, her letter in her hand. 
Here was a lover who loved her ,* a lover who had just 
sent to her not only love, but life ; a lover who had no 
intention of leaving her because of her overshadowing 
sorrow, but who had lifted that sorrow and had come 
to her again. Ay, more ; she knew that if the sorrow 
had not been lifted he would have come to her again. 

The governor of Jamaica was a man of hearty sym- 
pathies, and these worked so strongly in him that 
when Kate and her uncle came to bring him the good 
news, he kissed her and vowed that he had not heard 
anything so cheering for many a year. 

“I have been greatly afraid of that Vince, 1 ” he said. 
“Although I did not mention it, I have been greatly 
188 


ONE NORTH, ONE SOUTH 


afraid of him. He is a terrible fellow when he is 
crossed, and so hot-headed that it is easy to cross him. 
There were so many chances of his catching your 
father and so few chances of my orders catching him. 
But it is all right now ; you will be able to reach your 
father before Vince can possibly get to him, even 
should he be able to do him injury in his present 
position. Your father, my dear, must have been as 
mad as a March hare to embark upon a career of a 
pirate when all the time his heart was really turned 
to ways of peace, to planting, to mercantile pursuits, 
to domestic joys.” 

Here, now, was to be a voyage of conquest. Ho 
matter what his plans were, no matter what he said, 
no matter what he might lose or how he might suffer 
by being taken into captivity and being carried away, 
Major Stede Bonnet, late of Bridgetown and still later 
connected with some erratic voyages upon the high 
seas, was to be taken prisoner by his daughter and 
carried away to Spanish Town, where the actions of 
his disordered mind were to be condoned and where 
he would be safe from all vengeful Vinces and from 
all temptations of the flaunting skull and bones. 

It was a bright morning when, with a fair wind 
upon her starboard bow, the brig Belinda , bearing the 
jubilant three, sailed southward on her course to the 
coast of Honduras $ and it was upon that same morning 
that the good ship Bevenge ) bearing the pirate Black- 
beard and his handsomely uniformed lieutenant, sailed 
northward, the same fair wind upon her port bow. 


189 


CHAPTER XXI 


A PROJECTED MARRIAGE 

Strange as it may appear, Dickory Charter was not 
a very unhappy young fellow as he stood in his fine 
uniform on the quarter-deck of the Revenge , the fresh 
breeze ruffling his brown curls when he lifted his 
heavy cocked hat. 

True, he was leaving behind him his friends Cap- 
tain Bonnet and Ben Greenway, with whom the way- 
ward Blackbeard would allow no word of leave tak- 
ing $ true, he was going he knew not where, and in 
the power of a man noted the Hew World over for his 
savage eccentricities ; and true, he might soon be sail- 
ing, hour by hour, farther and farther away from the 
island on which dwelt the angel Kate— that angel 
Kate and his mother. But none of these considera- 
tions could keep down the glad feeling that he was 
going, that he was moving. Moreover, in answer to 
one of his impassioned appeals to be set ashore at 
Jamaica, Blackbeard had said to him that if he should 
get tired of him he did not see, at that moment, any 
reason why he should not put him on board some 
convenient vessel and have him landed at Kingston. 

Dickory did not believe very much in the black- 
bearded pirate, with his wild tricks and inhuman 
190 


A PROJECTED MARRIAGE 

high spirits, but Jamaica lay to the east, and he was 
going eastward. 

Incited, perhaps, by the possession of a fine ship, 
manned by a crew picked from his old vessel and from 
the men who had formed the crew of the Revenge , 
Blackbeard was in better spirits than was his wont, 
and, so far as his nature would allow, he treated Dick- 
ory with fair good humor. But no matter what hap- 
pened, his unrestrained imagination never failed him. 
Having taken the fancy to see Dickory always in full 
uniform, he allowed him to assume no other clothes ; 
he was always in naval full dress and cocked hat, and 
his duties were those of a private secretary. 

“The only shrewd thing I ever knew your Sir 
Nightcap to do,” he said, “was to tell me you could 
not read or write. He spoke so glibly that I be- 
lieved him. Had it not been so I should have sent 
you to the town to help with the shore end of my 
affairs, and then you would have been there still, and 
I should have had no admiral to write my log and 
straighten my accounts.” 

Sometimes, in his quieter moods, when there was no 
provocation to send pistol-balls between two sailors 
quietly conversing, or to perform some other demoniac 
trick, Blackbeard would talk to Dickory and ask all 
manner of questions, some of which the young man 
answered, while some he tried not to answer. Thus 
it was that the pirate found out a great deal more 
about Dickory’s life, hope, and sorrows than the young 
fellow imagined that he made known. He discovered 
that Dickory was greatly interested in Bonnet’s 
daughter and wished above all other things in this 
world to get to her and to be with her. 

191 


KATE BONNET 


This was a little out of the common run of things 
among the brotherhood ; it was their fashion to forget, 
so far as they were able, the family ties which already 
belonged to them, and to make no plans for any 
future ties of that sort which they might be able to 
make. Such a thing amused the generally rampant 
Blackbeard, but if this Dickory boy whom they had 
on board really did wish to marry some one, the idea 
came into the crafty mind of Blackbeard that he 
would like to attend to that marrying himself. It 
pleased him to have a finger in every pie, and now 
here was a pie in the fingering of which he might take 
a novel interest. 

This renowned desperado, this bloody cutthroat, 
this merciless pirate, possessed a home— a quiet little 
English home on the Cornwall coast, where the cheer- 
ful woods and fields stretched down almost in reach of 
the sullen sea. Here dwelt his wife, quiet Mistress 
Thatch, and here his brawny daughter. Seldom a 
word came to this rural home from the father, burn- 
ing and robbing, sinking and slaying out upon the 
western seas. But from the stores of pelf which so 
often slipped so easily into his great arms, and which 
so often slipped just as easily out of them, came now 
and then something to help the brawn grow upon his 
daughter’s bones and to ease the labors of his wife. 

Eliza Thatch bore no resemblance to a houri : her 
hair was red, her face was freckled ; she had enough 
teeth left to do good eating with when she had a 
chance, and her step shook the timbers of her little 
home. 

Her father had heard from her a little while ago by 
a letter she had had conveyed to Belize. His parental 
192 


A PROJECTED MARRIAGE 


feelings, notwithstanding he had told Bonnet he knew 
no such sentiments, were stirred. When he had fin- 
ished her letter he would have been well pleased to 
burn a vessel and make a dozen passengers walk the 
plank as a memorial to his girl. But this not being 
convenient, it had come to him that he would marry 
the wench to the gayly bedecked young fellow he had 
captured, and it filled his reckless heart with a wild 
delight. He drew his cutlass, and with a great oath 
he drove the heavy blade into the top of the table, 
and he swore by this mark that his grand plan should 
be carried out. 

He would sail over to England $ this would be a 
happy chance, for his vessel was unladen and ready 
for any adventure. He would drop anchor in the 
quiet cove he knew of ; he would go ashore by night ,♦ 
he would be at home again. To be at home again 
made him shout with profane laughter, the little home 
he remembered would be so ridiculous to him now. 
He would see again his poor little trembling wife 5 
she must be gray by now, and he was sure that she 
would tremble more than ever she did when she heard 
the great sea oaths which he was accustomed to pour 
forth now. And his daughter, she must be a strap- 
ping wench by this time ; he was sure she could stand 
a slap on the back which would kill her mother. 

Yes, there should be a wedding, a fine wedding, and 
good old rum should water the earth. And he would 
detail a boat’s crew of jolly good fellows from the Re- 
venge to help make things uproarious. This Charter 
boy and Eliza should have a house of their own, with 
plenty of money,— he had more funds in hand than 
ever in his life before,— and his respectable son-in-law 
193 


KATE BONNET 


should go to London and deposit his fortune in a bank. 
It would be royal fun to think of him and Eliza highly 
respectable and with money in the bank. A quart 
of the best rum could scarcely have made Blackbeard 
more hilarious than did this glorious notion. He 
danced among his crew ; he singed beards ; he whacked 
with capstan-bars ; he pushed men down hatchways : 
he was in lordly spirits, and his crew expected some 
great adventure, some startling piece of deviltry. 

Of course he did not keep his great design from 
Hickory— it was too glorious, too transcendent. He 
took his young admiral into his cabin and laid before 
him his dazzling future. 

Hickory sat speechless, almost breathless. As he 
listened he could feel himself turn cold. Had any one 
else been talking to him in this strain he would have 
shouted with laughter $ but people did not laugh at 
Blackbeard. 

When the pirate had said all and was gazing tri- 
umphantly at poor Hickory, the young man gasped a 
word in answer j he could not accept this awful fate 
without as much as a wave of the hand in protest. 

“But, sir,” said he, “if—” 

Blackboard’s face grew black ; he bent his head and 
lowered upon the pale Hickory $ then, with a tremen- 
dous blow, he brought down his fist upon the table. 

“If Eliza will not have you,” he roared, “if that 
girl will not take you when I offer you to her, if she 
or her mother as much as winks an eyelash in dis- 
obedience of my commands, I will take them by the 
hair of their heads and I will throw them into the 
sea. If she will not have you,” he repeated, roaring 
as if he were shouting through a speaking-trumpet in 
194 


A PROJECTED MARRIAGE 


a storm, “if I thought that, youngster, I would burn 
the house with both of them in it, and the rum I had 
bought to make a jolly wedding should be poured on 
the timbers to make them blaze. Let no notions like 
that enter your mind, my boy. If she disobeys me, I 
will cook her and you shall eat her. Disobey me ! ” 
And he swore at such a rate that he panted for fresh 
air and mounted to the deck. 

It was not a time for Dickory to make remarks 
indicating his disapproval of the proposed arrange- 
ment. 

As the Revenge sailed on over sunny seas or under 
lowering clouds, Dickory was no stranger to the bin- 
nacle, and the compass always told him that they 
were sailing eastward. He had once asked Black- 
beard where they now were by the chart, but that 
gracious gentleman of the midnight beard had given 
him oaths for answers, and had told him that if the 
captain knew where the ship was at any particular 
hour or minute nobody else on that ship need trouble 
his head about it. But at last the course of the Re- 
venge was changed a little, and she sailed northward. 
Then Dickory spoke with one of the mildest of the 
mates upon the subject of their progress, and the man 
made known to him that they were now about half- 
way through the W indward Passage. Dickory started 
back. He knew something of the geography of those 
seas. 

“Why, then,” he cried, “we have passed Jamaica ! ” 

“Of course we have,” said the man, and if it had not 
been for Dickory’s uniform he would have sworn at 
him. 


195 


CHAPTER XXII 


BLADE TO BLADE 

When the corvette Badger sailed from Jamaica she 
moved among the islands of the Caribbean Sea as if 
she had been a modern vessel propelled by a steam- 
engine. That which represented a steam-engine in 
this case was the fiery brain of Captain Christopher 
Yince of his Majesty’s navy. More than winds, more 
than currents, this brain made its power felt upon the 
course and progress of the vessel. 

Calling at every port where information might pos- 
sibly be gained, hailing every sloop or ship or fishing- 
smack which might have sighted the pirate ship 
Revenge, with a constant lookout for a black flag, 
Captain Yince kept his engine steadily at work. 

But it was not in pursuit of a ship that the swift 
keel of the Badger cut through the sea this way and 
that, now on a long course, now doubling back again, 
like a hound fancying he has got the scent of a hare, 
then raging wildly when he finds the scent is false : it 
was in pursuit of a woman that every sail was spread, 
that the lookout swept the sea, and that the hot brain 
of the captain worked steadily and hard. This Eng- 
lish man-of-war was on a cruise to make Kate Bonnet 
the bride of its captain. The heart of this naval lover 
196 


BLADE TO BLADE 


was very steady ; it was fixed in its purpose— nothing 
could turn it aside. Vince’s plans were well digested ; 
lie knew what he wanted to do, he knew how he was 
going to do it. 

In the first place, he would capture the man Bon- 
net; all the details of the action were arranged to 
that end. Then, with Kate’s father as his prisoner, he 
would be master of the situation. 

There was nothing noble about this craftily elabo- 
rated design ; but then, there was nothing noble about 
Captain Vince. He was a strong hater and a strong 
lover, and, whether he hated or loved, nothing, good 
or bad, must stand in his way. With the life or death, 
the misery or the happiness, of the father in his hands, 
he knew that he need but beckon to the daughter. 
She might come slowly, but she would come. She 
was a grand woman, but she was a woman ; she might 
resist the warm plea of love, but she could not resist 
the cold commands of that cruel figure of death who 
stood behind the lover. 

Captain Bonnet was returning from his visit to the 
New England coast, picking up bits of profit here and 
there as fortune befell him, when Captain Vince first 
heard that the Revenge had gone northward. The 
news was circumstantial and straightforward, and was 
not to be doubted. Vince raged upon his quarter- 
deck when he found out how he had been wasting 
time. Northward now was pointed the bow of the 
Badger , and the vengeful Vince felt as if his prey was 
already in his hands. If Bonnet had sailed up the 
Atlantic coast he was bound to sail down again. It 
might be a long cruise ; there might be impatient 
waitings at the mouths of coves and rivers where the 
197 


KATE BONNET 


pirates were accustomed to take refuge or refit : but 
the light of the eyes of Kate Bonnet was worth the 
longest pursuit or the most impatient waiting. 

So steadily sailed the corvette Badger up the long 
Atlantic coast, and she passed the capes of the Dela- 
ware while Captain Bonnet was examining the queer 
pulpit in the little bay -side town where his ship had 
stopped to take in water. 

At the various ports of the northern coast where the 
Revenge had sailed back and forth outside, the Badger 
boldly entered, and the tales she heard soon turned 
her back again to sail southward down the long At- 
lantic coast. But the heart of Christopher Vince 
never failed. The vision of Kate Bonnet as he had 
seen her, standing, with glorious eyes, denouncing him ; 
as he should see her when, with bowed head and prof- 
fered hand, she came to him $ as all should see her 
when, in her clear-cut beauty, she stood beside him in 
his ancestral home, never left him. 

Off the port of Charles Town, South Carolina, the 
Badger lay and waited, and soon, from an outgoing 
bark, the news came to Captain Vince that, several 
weeks before, the pirate Bonnet of the Revenge had 
taken an English ship as she was entering port, and 
had then sailed southward. Southward now sailed 
the Badger , and, as there was but little wind, Captain 
Vince swore with an unremitting diligence. 

It was a quiet morning, and the Badger was nearing 
the straits of Florida, when a sail was reported almost 
due south. 

Up came Captain Vince with his glass, and after a 
long, long look, and another and another, during 
which the two vessels came slowly nearer and nearer 
198 


BLADE TO BLADE 


each other, the captain turned to his first officer and 
said quietly : “She flies the skull and bones. She’s 
the first of those hellish pirates that we have yet met 
on this most unlucky cruise.” 

“If we could send her, with her crew on board, ten 
times to the bottom,” said the other, “she would not 
pay us what her vile fraternity has cost us. But these 
pirate craft know well the difference between a Span- 
ish galleon and a British man-of-war, and they will 
always give us a wide berth.” 

“But this one will not,” said the captain. 

Then again he looked long and earnestly through 
his glass. “Send aft the three men who know the 
Revenge ,” said he. 

Presently the men came aft, and one by one they 
went aloft, and soon came the report, vouched for by 
each of them : 

“The sail ahead is the pirate Revenge .” 

Now all redness left the face of Captain Vince. He 
was as pale as if he had been afraid that the pirate 
ship would capture him ; but every man on his vessel 
knew that there was no fear in the soul or the body of 
the captain of the Badger . Quickly came his orders, 
clear and sharp ; everything had been gone over be- 
fore, but everything was gone over again. The cor- 
vette was to bear down upon the pirate, her cannon 
—great guns for those days, and which could soon 
have disabled, if they had not sunk, the smaller vessel 
—were muzzled and told to hold their peace. The 
man-of-war was to bear down upon the pirate and to 
capture her by boarding. There was to be no broad- 
side, no timber-splitting cannon-balls. 

The wind was light and in favor of the corvette, and 
199 


KATE BONNET 


slowly the two vessels diminished the few miles be- 
tween them 5 but there was enough wind to show the 
royal colors on the Badger . 

“He is a bold fellow, that pirate,” said some of the 
naval men, “and he will wait and fight us.” 

“He will wait and fight us,” said some of the others, 
“because he cannot get away ; in this wind he is at 
our mercy.” 

Captain Vince stood and gazed over the water, 
sometimes with his glass and sometimes without it. 
Here now was the end of his fuming, his raging, his 
long and untiring search. All the anxious weariness 
of long voyaging, all the impatience of watching, all 
the irritation of waiting, had gone. The notorious 
vessel in which the father of Kate Bonnet had made 
himself a terror and a scourge was now almost within 
his reach. The beneficent vessel by which the father 
of Kate Bonnet should give to him his life’s desire was 
so near to him that he could have sent a musket-ball 
into her had he chosen to fire. It was so near to him 
that he could now, with his glass, read the word “Ke- 
venge” on her bow. His brows were knit, his jaws 
were set tight, his muscles hardened themselves with 
energy. 

Again the orders were passed that when the men 
of the corvette boarded the pirate they were to cut 
down the rascals without mercy, and not one of them 
was to draw sword or pistol against the pirate captain. 
He would be attended to by their commander. 

Vince knew the story of Stede Bonnet. He knew 
that early in life he had been in the army, and that 
it was likely that he understood the handling of a 
sword. But he knew also that he himself was one of 
200 


BLADE TO BLADE 


the best swordsmen in the royal navy. He yearned 
to cross blades with the man whose blood should not 
be shed, whose life should be preserved throughout 
the combat as if he were a friend and not a foe, who 
should surrender to him his sword and give to him 
his daughter. 

“They’re a brave lot, those bloody rascals,” said one 
of the men of the Badger . 

“They’ve a fool of a captain,” said another ; “he 
knows not the difference between a British man-of- 
war and a Spanish galleon ; but we shall teach him 
that.” 

Slowly they came together, the Bevenge and the 
Badger , the bow of one pointed east and the bow of 
the other to the west. From neither vessel came a 
word ; the low waves could be heard flapping against 
their sides. Suddenly there rang out from the man- 
of-war the order to make fast. The grapnels flew over 
the bulwarks of the pirate, and in a moment the two 
vessels were as one. Then, with a great shout, the 
men of the Badger leaped and hurled themselves upon 
the deck of the Bevenge , and upon that deck and from 
behind bulwarks there rose, yelling and howling and 
roaring, the picked men of two pirate crews, quick, 
furious, and strong as tigers, the hate of man in their 
eyes and the love of blood in their hearts. Like a 
wave of massacre they threw themselves against the 
drilled masses of the Badger's crew, and with yells 
and oaths and curses and cries the battle raged. 

With a sudden dash the captain of the man-of-war 
plunged through the ranks of the combatants and 
stood upon the middle of the deck ; his quick eyes 
shot here and there ; wherever he might be, he sought 
201 


KATE BONNET 


the captain of the pirate ship. In an instant a huge 
man bounded aft and made one long step toward him. 
Vast in chest and shoulder, and with mighty limbs, 
fiery-eyed, hairy, horribly fantastic, Blackbeard stood 
with great head lowered for the charge. 

“A sugar-planter f ” was the swift thought of Vince. 

u Are you the captain of this ship ? ” he shouted. 

“I am!” cried the other, and with a curse like 
bursting thunder the pirate came on and his blade 
crossed that of Captain Vince. 

Forward and amidships surged the general fight. 
Men plunged, swords fell, blood flowed, feet slipped 
upon the deck, and roars of blasphemy and pain rose 
above the noise of battle. But farther aft the two 
captains, in a space by themselves, cut, thrust, and 
trampled, whirling around each other, dashing from 
this side and that, ever with keen eyes firmly fixed, 
ever with strong arms whirling down and upward ; 
now one man felt the keen cut of steel, and now the 
other. The blood ran upon rich uniform or stained 
rough cloth and leather. It was a fight as if between 
a lioness and a tigress, their dead cubs near by. 

As most men in the navy knew, Captain Vince was 
a most dangerous swordsman. In duel or in warfare, 
no man yet had been able to stand before him. With 
skilled arm and eye, and with every muscle of his body 
trained, his sword sought a vital spot in his opponent. 
There was no thought now in the mind of Vince about 
disarming the pirate and taking him prisoner. This 
terrible wild beast, this hairy monster, must be killed 
or he himself must die. Through the whirl and clash 
and hot breath of battle he had been amazed that Kate 
Bonnet’s father should be a man like this. 


202 


BLADE TO BLADE 


The pirate, his eyes now shrunken into his head, 
where they glowed like coals, his breath steaming like 
a volcano, and his tremendous muscles supple and 
quick as those of a cat, met his antagonist at every 
point, and with every lunge and thrust and cut forced 
him to guard. 

Now Yince shut himself in his armor of trained de- 
fence ; this bounding lion must be killed, but the 
death-stroke must be cunningly delivered, and until, 
in his hot rage, the pirate should forget his guard, 
Vince must shield himself. 

Never had the great Blackbeard met so keen a 
swordsman ; he howled with rage to see the English 
captain still vigorous, agile, warding every stroke. 
Blackbeard was now a wild beast of the sea : he fought 
to kill, for naught else, not even his own life. With 
a yell he threw himself upon Captain Yince, whose 
sword passed quick as lightning through the brawny 
masses of his left shoulder. With one quick step, the 
pirate pressed closer to Yince, thus holding the im- 
prisoned blade, which stuck out behind his body, and 
with a tremendous blow of his right fist, in which he 
held the heavy brazen hilt of his sword, he dashed his 
enemy backward to the ground. The fall drew the 
blade from the shoulder of Blackbeard, whose great 
right arm went up, whose sword hissed in the air and 
then came down upon the prostrate Yince. Another 
stroke and the English captain lay insensible and still. 

With the scream of a maddened Indian, Blackbeard 
sprang into the air, and when his feet touched the 
deck he danced. He would have hewn his victim into 
pieces, he would have scattered him over the decks ; 
but there was no time for such recreations. Forward 


203 


KATE BONNET 


the battle raged with tremendous fury, and into the 
midst of it dashed Blackbeard. 

From the companionway leading to the captain’s 
cabin there now appeared a pale young face. It was 
that of Dickory Charter, who had been ordered by 
Blackbeard, before the two vessels came together, to 
shut himself in the cabin and to keep out of the broil, 
swearing that if he made himself unfit to present to 
Eliza he would toss his disfigured body iuto the sea. 
Entirely unarmed and having no place in the fight, 
Dickory had obeyed ; but the spirit of a young man 
which burned within him led him to behold the 
greater part of the conflict between Blackbeard and 
the English captain. Being a young man, he had shut 
his eyes at the end of it ; but when the pirate had left 
he came forth quietly. The fight raged forward, and 
here he was alone with the fallen figure on the deck. 

As Dickory stood gazing downward in awe — in all 
his life he had never seen a corpse— the man he had 
supposed dead opened his eyes for a moment and 
gazed with dull intelligence, and then he gasped for 
rum. Dickory was quickly beside him with a tumbler 
of spirits and water, which, raising the fallen man’s I 
head, he gave him. In a few moments the eyes of 
Captain Vince opened wider, and he stared at the 
young man in naval uniform who stood above him. 
“Who are you?” he said in a low voice but distinct. 
“An English officer?” 

“No,” said Dickory ; “I am no officer and no pirate : 
I am forced to wear these clothes.” 

And then, his natural and selfish instincts pushing 
themselves before anything else, Dickory went on : 
“Oh, sir, if your men conquer these pirates, will you 
204 


BLADE TO BLADE 


take me-” But as he spoke he saw that the wounded 
man was not listening to him ; his half-closed eyes 
turned toward him and he whispered : 

“More spirits ! ” 

Dickory dashed into the cabin, half filled a tumbler 
with rum, and gave it to Vince. Presently his eyes 
recovered something of their natural glow, and with 
contracted brow he fixed them upon the stream of 
blood which was running from him over the deck. 

Suddenly he spoke sharply. “Young fellow,” he 
said, “some paper and a pen— a pencil— anything ! 
Quick ! ” 

Dickory looked at him in amazement for a moment, 
and then he ran into the cabin, soon returning with 
a sheet of paper and an English pencil. 

The eyes of Captain Vince were now very bright, 
and a nervous strength came into his body. He raised 
himself upon his elbow, he clutched at the paper, and, 
clapping it upon the deck, began to write. Quickly 
his pencil moved ; already he was feeling that his rum- 
given strength was leaving him, but several pages he 
wrote, and then he signed his name. Folding the 
sheet, he stopped for a moment, feeling that he could 
do no more ; but, gathering together his strength in 
one convulsive motion, he addressed the letter. 

“Take that,” he feebly said, “and swear— that it 
shall be— delivered.” 

“I swear,” said Dickory, as on his knees he took the 
blood-smeared letter. He hastily slipped it into the 
breast of his coat, and then he was barely able to move 
quick enough to keep the Englishman’s head from 
striking the deck. 

“How now ! ” sounded a harsh growl at his ear. 

205 


KATE BONNET 


“Get you into your cabin or you will be hurt. It is 
not time yet for the fleecing of corpses ! I am choking 
for a glass of brandy. Get in and stay there ! ” 

In another minute Blackbeard, refreshed, was run- 
ning aft, the cut through his shoulder bleeding, but 
entirely forgotten. 

There was no fighting now upon the deck of the 
Revenge ; the conflict raged, but it had been transferred 
to the Badger. The sailors of the man-of-war had 
fought valiantly and stoutly, even impetuously ; but 
their enemies— picked men from two pirate crews— 
had fought like wire-muscled devils. Ablaze with 
fury, they had cut down the Badger’s men, piling them 
upon their own fallen comrades ; they had followed the 
brave fellows with oaths, cutlasses, and pistols as, a little 
at a time and fighting all the while, they slowly clam- 
bered back into their own ship. The pirates had 
thrown their grapnels over the bulwarks of the man- 
of-war. They had followed, cut by cut, shot by shot, 
until they now stood upon the Badger , fighting with 
the same fury with which they had just fought upon the 
blood-soaked Revenge. Blackbeard was not yet with 
them,— whatever happened, Blackbeard must be re- 
freshed,— but now he sprang into the enemy’s ship, 
that fine British man-of-war the corvette Badger , 
which had so bravely sailed down upon his ship to 
capture her, and led the carnage. 

They were tough men, those British seamen, tough 
in heart, tough in arms and body ; they fought above 
decks and they fought below, and they laid many a 
pirate scoundrel dead : but they had met a foe which 
was too strong for them— a pack of brawny, hairy des- 
peradoes, picked from two pirate crews. The first 
206 


BLADE TO BLADE 


officer now commanding, panting, bleeding, and torn, 
groaned as he saw that his men could fight no longer, 
and he surrendered the Badger to the pirates. 

The great Blackbeard yelled with delight. When 
had any other captain sailing under the Jolly Roger 
captured a British man-of-war, a first-class corvette of 
the royal navy! His frenzied joy was so intense that 
he was on the point of cutting down the officer who 
was offering him his sword ; but he withheld his hand. 

“Go, somebody, and fetch me a glass of his Majesty’s 
rum,” he cried, “and I will drink to his perdition !” 

The door of a locker was smashed, the spirits were 
brought, and the great Blackbeard was again refreshed. 

Standing on the quarter-deck where but an hour 
or two before Captain Christopher Yince had stood 
commanding his fine corvette as she sailed down upon 
her pirate enemy, Blackbeard had brought before him 
all the survivors of the Badger’s crew. 

“Well, you’re a lot of damnable knaves,” said he, 
“and you have cost me many a good man this day. 
But my crew will now be short-handed, and if any or 
all of you will turn pirate and ship with me, I will let 
bygones pass. But if any of you choose not that, over- 
board you go. I will have no unwilling rascals in my 
crew.” 

All but one of the men of the Badger , downcast, 
wounded, panting with thirst, and loving life, agreed 
to become pirates and to ship on board the Revenge. 

The first mate would not break his oath of allegiance 
to the king, and he went overboard. 


207 


CHAPTEB XXIII 


THE ADDRESS OF THE LETTER 

There was hard and ghastly work that day when the 
Revenge was cleared after action, and there was lively 
and interesting work on board the Badger, when Black- 
beard and his officers went over the captured vessel 
to discover what new possessions they had won. 

At first Blackbeard had thought to establish himself 
upon the corvette and abandon the Revenge . It would 
have been such a grand thing to scourge the seas in a 
British man-of-war with the Jolly Boger floating over 
her ! But this would have been too dangerous ; the 
combined naval force of England in American waters 
would have been united to put down such presumption. 
So the wary pirate curbed his ambition. 

Everything portable and valuable was stripped from 
the Badger,— her guns would have been taken had it 
been practicable to ship them to the Revenge in a ris- 
ing sea,— -and then she was scuttled, fired, and cast off, 
and with her dead on board she passed out of commis- 
sion in the royal navy. 

During the turmoil, the horror, and the bringing 
aboard of pillage, Dickory Charter had kept close 
below deck, his face in his hands and his heart almost 
broken. It is so easy for young hearts to almost break. 

208 


THE ADDRESS OF THE LETTER 


When he had seen the British ship come sailing 
down upon them, hope had sprung up brightly in his 
heart ; now there was a chance of his escaping from 
this hell of the waves. When the Revenge should be 
taken he would rush to the British captain, or any one 
in authority, and tell his tale. It would be believed, 
he doubted not ; even his uniform would help to prove 
he was no pirate. He would be taken away ; he would 
reach Jamaica ; he would see Kate ; he would carry 
to her the great news of her father. After that his 
life could take care of itself. 

But now the blackness of darkness was over every- 
thing. Those who were to have been his friends had 
vanished ; the ship which was to have given him a new 
life had disappeared forever. He was on board the 
pirate ship, bound for the shores of England,— horrible 
shores to him,— bound to the shores of England and to 
Blackbeard’s Eliza ! 

He was not a fool, this Dickory ; he had no unwar- 
rantable and romantic fears that in these enlightened 
days one man could say to another, “Go you and 
marry the woman I have chosen for you.” There was 
nothing silly or cowardly about him, but he knew 
Blackbeard. 

Hot one ray of hope thrust itself through his hands 
into his brain. Hope had gone, gone to the bottom, 
and he was on his storm-tossed way to the waters of 
another continent. 

But in the midst of his despair Dickory never 
thought of freeing himself, by a sudden bound, of the 
world and his woes. So long as Kate should live he 
must live, even if it were to prove to himself, and to 
himself only, how faithful to her he could be. 

209 


KATE BONNET 


It was dark when men came tumbling below, throw- 
ing themselves into hammocks and bunks, and Dick- 
ory prepared to turn in. If sleep should come, and 
without dreams, it would be greater gain than bags 
of gold. As he took off his coat the letter of the Eng- 
lish captain dropped from his breast. Until then he 
had forgotten it ; but now he remembered it as a sacred 
trust. The dull light of the lantern barely enabled 
him to discern objects about him, but he stuck the 
letter into a crack in the woodwork where in the 
morning he would see it and take proper care of it. 

Soon sleep came, but not without dreams. He 
dreamed that he was rowing Kate on the river at 
Bridgetown, and that she told him in a low, sweet 
voice, with a smile on her lips and her eyes tenderly 
upturned, that she would like to row thus with him 
forever. 

Early in the morning, through an open port-hole, 
the light of the eastern sun stole into this abode of 
darkness and sin and threw itself upon the red-stained 
letter sticking in the crack of the woodwork. Pres- 
ently Dickory opened his eyes, and the first thing they 
fell upon was that letter. On the side of the folded 
sheet he could see the superscription, boldly but ir- 
regularly written : “Miss Kate Bonnet, Kingston, Ja.” 

Dickory sat upright, his eyes hard fixed and burn- 
ing. How long he sat he knew not. How long his 
brain burned inwardly, as his eyes burned outwardly, 
he knew not. The noise of the watch going on deck 
roused him, and in a moment he had the letter in his 
hands. 

All that day Dickory Charter was worth nothing to 
anybody. Blackbeard swore at him and pushed him 
210 


THE ADDRESS OF THE LETTER 


aside. The young fellow could not even count the 
doubloons in a bag. 

“Go to !” cried the pirate, blacker and more fan- 
tastically horrible than ever, for his bare left shoulder 
was bound with a scarf of silk and his great arm was 
streaked and bedabbled with his blood. “You are the 
most cursed coward I have met with in all my days at 
sea. So frightened out of your wits by a lively brush 
as that of yesterday ! Too scared to count gold ! 
Never saw I that before. One might be too scared to 
pray, but to count gold ! Ha, ha ! ” and the bold pi- 
rate laughed a merry roar. He was in good spirits ; 
he had captured and sunk an English man-of-war— 
sunk her with her English ensign floating above her. 
How it would have overjoyed him if all the ships, little 
and big, that plied the Spanish Main could have seen 
him sink that man-of-war I He was a merry man that 
morning, the great Blackbeard, triumphant in victory, 
glowing with the king’s brandy, and with so little 
pain from that cut in his shoulder that he could waste 
no thought upon it. 

“But Eliza will like it well,” continued the merry 
pirate ; “she will lead you with a string, be you bold 
or craven, and the less you pull at it the easier it will 
be for my brave girl. Ah ! she will dance with joy 
when I tell her what a frightened rabbit of a husband 
it is that I give her. Now get away somewhere, and 
let your face rid itself of its paleness $ and should you 
find a dead man lying where he has been overlooked, 
come and tell me and I will have him put aside. You 
must not be frightened any more or Eliza may find that 
you have not left even the spirit of a rabbit.” 

All day Dickory sat silent, his misery pinned into 
211 


KATE BONNET 


the breast of bis coat. “Miss Kate Bonnet, Kingston, 
Ja.”— and this on a letter written in the dying moments 
of an English captain, a high and mighty captain, who 
must have loved as few men love, to write that letter, 
his life’s blood running over the paper as he wrote. 
And could a man love thus if he were not loved ? That 
was the terrible question. 

Sometimes his mind became quiet enough for him 
to think coherently ; then it was easy enough for him 
to understand everything. Kate had been a long time 
in Jamaica ; she had met many people j she had met 
this man, this noble, handsome man. Hickory had 
watched him with glowing admiration as he stood up 
before Blackbeard, fighting like the champion of all 
good against the hairy monster who struck his blows 
for all that was base and wicked. 

How Hickory’s young heart had gone out in sym- 
pathy and fellowship toward the brave English cap- 
tain ! How he had hoped that the next of his quick, 
sharp lunges might slit the black heart of the pirate ! 
How he had almost wept when the noble Englishman 
went down ! And now it made him shudder to think 
his heart had stood side by side with the heart of 
Kate’s lover ! He had sworn to deliver the letter of 
that lover, and he would do it. More cruel than the 
bloodiest pirate was the fate that forced him thus to 
bear the death-warrant of his own young life. 


212 


CHAPTER XXIV 


BELIZE 

There were not many captains of merchantmen in 
the early part of the eighteenth century who cared to 
sail into the Gulf of Honduras, that body of water 
being such a favorite resort of pirates. 

But no such fears troubled the mind of the skipper 
of the brig Belinda , which was now making the best 
of her way toward the port of Belize. She was a 
sturdy vessel and carried no prejudices. Sometimes 
she was laden with goods bought from the pirates and 
destined to be sold to honest people j and, again, she 
carried commodities purchased from those who were 
their legal owners and intended for the use of the bold 
rascals who sailed under the Jolly Roger. Then, as 
now, it was impossible for thieves to steal all the com- 
modities they desired ; some things must be bought. 
Thus, serving the pirates as well as honest traders, the 
brig Belinda feared not to sail the Gulf of Honduras 
or to cast anchor by the town of Belize. 

As the good ship approached her port Kate Bonnet 
kept steadfastly on deck during most of the daylight, 
her eyes searching the surface of the water for some- 
thing which looked like her father’s ship, the Revenge . 
True, Master Xewcombe had written her that Major 
213 


KATE BONNET 


Bonnet had given np piracy and was now engaged in 
commercial business in the town, but still, if she should 
see the Revenge , the sight would be of absorbing in- 
terest to her. She was a girl of quick observation and 
good memory, but the town came in view and she had 
seen no vessel which reminded her of the Revenge . 

As soon as the anchor was dropped, Kate wished to 
go on shore, but her uncle would not hear of that. He 
must know something definite before he trusted Kate 
or himself in such a lawless town as Belize. The cap- 
tain, who was going ashore, could make inquiries, and 
Kate must wait. 

In a little room at the back of a large, low store- 
house, not far from the pier, sat Stede Bonnet and his 
faithful friend and servitor, Ben Greenway. The store- 
house was crowded with goods of almost every imag- 
inable description, and even the room back of it 
contained an overflow of bales, boxes, and barrels. At 
a small table near a window sat the Scotchman and 
Bonnet, the latter reading from some roughly written 
lists descriptions and quantities of goods, the value of 
each item being estimated by the canny Scotchman, 
who set down the figures upon another list. Presently 
Bonnet put down his papers and heaved a heavy sigh, 
which sigh seemed to harmonize very well with his 
general appearance. He carried no longer upon him 
the countenance of the bold officer who, in uniform 
and flowing feather, trod the quarter-deck of the Re- 
venge, but bore the expression of a man who knew ad- 
versity, yet was not able to humble himself under it. 
He was bent and borne down, although not yet broken. 
Had he been broken he could better have accommo- 
dated himself to his present case. His clothes were 
214 


BELIZE 


those of the common class of civilian, and there was 
that about him which indicated that he cared no more 
for neatness or good looks. 

“Ben Greenway,” he said, “this is too much ! Now 
have I reached the depth in my sorrow at which all 
my strength leaves me. I cannot read these lists.” 

The Scotchman looked up. “Is there no’ light 
enow ? ” he asked. 

“Light ! ” said Bonnet. “There is no light anywhere j 
all is murkiness and gloom. The goods which you 
have been lately estimating are all my own, taken from 
my own ship by that arch-traitor and chief devil 
Blackbeard. I have read the names of them to you, 
and I have remembered many of them, and I have not 
weakened. But now comes a task which is too great for 
me. These things which follow were all intended for 
my daughter Kate. Silks and satins and cloth of gold, 
ribbons and fine linen, laces and ornaments, all these 
I selected for my dear daughter, and by day and by 
night I have thought of her apparelled in fine raiment, 
more richly dressed than any lady in Barbados. My 
daughter, my beautiful, my proud Kate ! And now 
what has it all come to? All these are gone, basely 
stolen from me by that Blackbeard.” 

Ben Green way looked up. “Wha stole from ye,” 
he said, “what ye had already stolen from its rightful 
owners. An’ think ye,” he continued, “that your hon- 
est daughter Kate would deign to array hersel’ in stolen 
goods, no matter how rich they might happen to be ? 
An’ think ye she could hold up her head if the good 
people o’ Bridgetown could point at her an’ say , 1 Look 
at the thief’s daughter ; how fine she is ! ’ An’ think 
ye that Master Martin Newcombe would tak’ into his 
215 


KATE BONNET 


house an’ hame a wife wha hadna come honestly by 
her clothes ? I tell ye, Master Bonnet, that ye should 
exalt your soul in thankfulness that ye are no longer 
a dishonest mon, an’ that whatever raiment your 
daughter may now wear, no’ a sleeve or button o’ it 
was purloined an’ stolen by her father.” 

“Ben Green way,” exclaimed Bonnet, striking his 
hand upon the table, “you will drive me so mad that 
I cannot read writing ! These things are bad enough, 
and you need not make them worse.” 

“Bless Heaven,” said the Scotchman, “your con- 
science is wakin’, an’ the time may come, if it is kept 
workin’, when ye will forget your plunder an’ your 
blude, your wicked vanity, your cruelty an’ your dis- 
honesty, an’ mak’ yoursel’ worthy o’ a good daughter 
an’ a quiet hame. An’, more than that, I will tak’ leave 
to add, o’ the faithful services o’ a steadfast friend.” 

“I cannot forget them, Ben,” said Bonnet, speaking 
without anger. “The more you talk about my sins, 
the more I long to do them all over again ,• the more 
you say about my vanity and pride, the more I yearn 
to wear my uniform and wave my naked sword— ay, 
to bring it down with blood upon its blade. I am very 
wicked, Greenway ; you never would admit it, and you 
do not admit it now ; but I am wicked, and I could 
prove it to you if fortune would give me opportunity.” 
And Captain Bonnet sat up very straight in his chair, 
and his eyes flashed as they very often had flashed as 
he trod the deck of the J Revenge. 

At this moment there was a knock at the door, and 
the captain of the Belinda came in. 

“Good day, sir!” said that burly seaman. “And 
this is Captain Bonnet, I am sure, for I have seen him 
216 


BELIZE 


before, though garbed in another fashion ; and I come 
to bring you news. I have just arrived at this port in 
my brig, and I bring with me from Kingston your 
daughter, Mistress Kate Bonnet, her uncle, Master 
Delaplaine, and a good dame named Charter.” 

Stede Bonnet turned pale as he had never turned 
pale before. 

i 1 My daughter ! ” he gasped. 1 1 My daughter Kate ? ” 

“Yes,” said the captain ; “she is on my ship, yearn- 
ing and moaning to see you.” 

“From Kingston?” murmured Bonnet. 

“Yes,” said the other ; “and on fire to see you since 
she heard you were here.” 

“Master Bonnet,” exclaimed Ben Greenway, rising, 
“we must hasten to that vessel ; perhaps this good 
captain will now tak’ us there in his boat.” 

Bonnet fixed his eyes upon the floor. “Ben Green- 
way,” he said, “I cannot. How I have longed to see 
my daughter, and how, time and again and time and 
again, I have pictured our meeting ! I have seen her 
throw herself into the arms of that noble officer her 
father ; I have heard her, bathed in filial tears, forgive 
me everything because of the proud joy with which 
she looked on me and knew I was her father. Green- 
way, I cannot go ; I have dropped too low, and I am 
ashamed to meet her.” 

“Ashamed that ye are honest?” cried the Scotch- 
man. “Ashamed that sin nae longer besets ye, an’ 
that ye are lifted above the thief an’ the cutpurse? 
Master Bonnet, Master Bonnet, in good truth I am 
ashamed o’ ye.” 

“Very well,” said the captain of the Belinda ; “I have 
no time to waste. If you will not go to her, she e’en 
217 


KATE BONNET 


must come to you. I will send my boat for her and 
the others, and you shall wait for them here.” 

“I will not wait!” exclaimed Bonnet. “I don’t 
dare to look into her eyes. Behold these clothes ; con- 
sider my mean employment. Shall I abash myself 
before my daughter?” 

“Master Bonnet,” exclaimed Greenway, hastily step- 
ping to the doorway through which the captain had 
departed, “ye shallna tie yoursel’ to the skirts o’ the 
de’il ; ye shallna run awa’ an’ hide yoursel’ from your 
daughter wha seeks, in tears an’ groans, for her un- 
worthy father. Sit down, Master Bonnet, an’ wait 
here until your good daughter comes.” 

The Belinda's captain had intended to send his boat 
back to his vessel, but now he determined to take her 
himself. This was such a strange situation that it 
might need explanation. 

Kate screamed when he made known his errand. 
“What ! ” she cried, “my father in the town, and did 
he not come back with you? Is he sick? Is he 
wounded ? Is he in chains ? ” 

“And my Dickory ! ” cried Dame Charter. “Was he 
not there ? Has he not yet returned to the town ? It 
must now be a long time since he went away ! ” 

“I know not anything more than I have told you,” 
said the captain. “And if Master Delaplaine and the 
two ladies will get into my boat, I will quickly take 
you to the town and show you where you may find 
Captain Bonnet and learn all you wish to know.” 

“And Dickory,” cried Dame Charter, “my son Dick- 
ory ! Did they give you no news of him? ” 

“Come along, come along,” said the captain ; “my 
men are waiting in the boat. I asked no questions, but 
in ten minutes you can ask a hundred if you like.” 

218 


BELIZE 


When the little party reached the town it attracted 
a great deal of attention from the rough roisterers who 
were strolling about or gambling in shady places. 
When the captain of the Belinda mentioned, here and 
there, that these newcomers were the family of Black - 
beard’s factor, who now had charge of that pirate’s in- 
terests in the town, no one dared to treat the elderly 
gentleman, the pretty young lady, or the rotund dame 
with the slightest disrespect. The name of the great 
pirate was a safe protection even when he who bore 
it was leagues and leagues away. 

At the door of the storehouse Ben Greenway stood 
waiting. He would have hurried down to the pier 
had it not been that he was afraid to leave Bonnet- 
afraid that this shamefaced ex-pirate would have hur- 
ried away to hide himself from his daughter and his 
friends. Kate, running forward, grasped the Scotch- 
man by both hands. 

“And where is he?” she cried. 

“He is in there,” said Ben, pointing through the 
store-room to the open door at the back. In an instant 
she was gone. 

“And Dickory?” cried Dame Charter. “Oh, Ben 
Greenway, tell me of my boy ! ” 

They went inside, and Greenway told everything 
he knew, which was very much, although it was not 
enough to comfort the poor mother’s heart, who could 
not readily believe that because Dickory had sailed 
away with a great and powerful pirate, that eminent 
man would be sure to bring him back in safety ; but 
as Greenway really believed this, his words made some 
impression on the good dame’s heart. She could see 
some reason to believe that Blackbeard, having now 
so much property in the town, might make a short 
219 


KATE BONNET 


cruise this time, and that any day the Revenge , with 
her dear son on board, might come sailing into port. 

With his face buried in his folded arms, which rested 
on the table, Stede Bonnet received his daughter. At 
first she did not recognize him, never having seen him 
in such mean apparel $ but when he raised his head 
she knew her father. Closing the door behind her, 
she folded him in her arms. After a little, leaving the 
window, they sat together upon a bale of goods, which 
happened to be a rug from the Orient, of wondrous 
richness, which Bonnet had reserved for the floor of 
his daughter’s room. 

“ Never, my dear,” he said, “did I dream you would 
see me in such plight. I blush that you should look 
at me.” 

“Blush ! ” she exclaimed, her own cheeks reddening. 
“And you an honest man and no longer a freebooter 
and rover of the sea? My heart swells with pride to 
think that your life is so changed.” 

Bonnet sadly shook his head. 

“Ah ! ” he said, “you don’t know, you cannot under* 
stand what I feel. Kate,” he exclaimed with sudden 
energy, “I was a man among men, a chief over many. 
I was powerful ; I was obeyed on every side. I looked 
the bold captain that I was ; my brave uniform and 
my sword betokened the rank I held. And, Kate, 
you can never know the pride and exultation with 
which I stood upon my quarter-deck and scanned the 
sea, master of all that might come within my vision. 
How my heart would swell and my blood run wild 
when I beheld in the distance a proud ship, her sails 
all spread, her colors flying, heavily laden, hastening 
onward to her port ! How I would stretch out my arm 
220 


BELIZE 


to that proud ship and say : 1 Let down those sails, drop 
all those flaunting flags, for you are mine ; I am greater 
than your captain or your king ! If I give the com- 
mand, down you go to the bottom with all your people, 
all your goods, all your banners and emblazonments, 
down to the bottom, never to be seen again ! ’ ” 

Kate shuddered and began to cry. “Oh, father ! ” 
she exclaimed, “don’t say that. Surely you never did 
such things as that?” 

“No,” said he, speaking more quietly ; “not just like 
that, but I could have done it all had it pleased me ; 
and it was this sense of power that made my heart 
beat so proudly. I took no life, Kate, if it could be 
helped, and when I had stripped a ship of her goods, 
I put her people upon shore before I burned her.” 

Kate bowed her head in her hands. “And of all 
this you are proud, my father ; you are proud of it ! ” 

“Indeed am I, daughter,” said he 5 “and had you 
seen me in my glory you would have been proud of 
me. Perhaps yet—” 

In an instant she had clapped her hand over his 
mouth. “You shall not say it !” she exclaimed. “I 
have seized upon you, and I shall hold you. No more 
freebooter’s life for you ; no more blood, no more fire. 
I shall take you away with me. Not to Bridgetown, 
for there is no happiness for either of us there, but to 
Spanish Town. There, with my uncle, we shall all be 
happy together. Y ou will forget the sea and its ships ; 
you will again wander over your fields ; and I shall be 
with you. You shall watch the waving crops ; you 
shall ride with me, as you used to ride, to view your 
vast herds of cattle— those splendid creatures, their 
great heads uplifted, their nostrils to the breeze.” 

221 


KATE BONNET 


“ Truly, my Kate,” said Bonnet, “that was a great 
sight j there were no cattle on the island finer than 
were mine.” 

“ An d so shall they be again, my father,” said Kate, 
her arms around his neck. 

It was then that Ben Greenway knocked upon the 
door. 

Stede Bonnet’s mind had been so much excited by 
what he had been talking about that he saluted his 
brother-in-law and Dame Charter without once think- 
ing of his clothes. They looked upon him as if he 
were some unknown foreigner, a person entirely re- 
moved from their customary sphere. 

“Is this the once respectable Stede Bonnet?” 
asked Dame Charter to herself. “Did such a man 
marry my sister ? ” thought Master Delaplaine. They 
might have been surprised had they met him as a pi- 
rate, but his appearance as a pirate’s clerk amazed 
them. 

Toward the end of the day Master Delaplaine and 
his party returned to the Belinda , for there was no fit 
place for them to lodge in the town. Although urged 
by all, Stede Bonnet would not accompany them. 
When persuasion had been exhausted, Ben Greenway 
promised Kate that he would be responsible for her 
father’s appearance the next day, feeling safe in so 
doing ; for, even should Bonnet’s shame return, there 
was no likely way in which he could avoid his friends. 


222 


CHAPTER XXV 


WISE MASTER DELAPLAINE 

Early in the next forenoon Kate and her companions 
prepared to make another visit to the town. Natu- 
rally she wanted to he with her father as much as pos- 
sible and to exert upon him such influences as might 
make him forget, in a degree, the so-called glories of 
his pirate life and return with her and her uncle to 
Spanish Town, where, she believed, this misguided 
man might yet surrender himself to the rural joys of 
other days. Nay, more ; he and she might hope for 
still further happiness in a Jamaica home, for Madam 
Bonnet would not be there. 

As she came up from below, impatient to depart, 
Kate noticed getting over the side a gentleman who 
had j ust arrived in a small boat. He was tall and good - 
looking, and very handsomely attired in a rich suit 
such as was worn at that day by French and Spanish 
noblemen. A sword with an elaborate hilt was by his 
side, and on his head a high cocked hat. There was 
fine lace at his wrists and bosom, and he wore silk 
stockings, and silver buckles on his shoes. 

Kate started at meeting here a stranger, and in such 
an elaborate attire. She had read of the rich dress of 
men of rank in Europe, but her eyes had never fallen 
223 


KATE BONNET 


upon such, a costume. The gentleman advanced 
quickly toward her, holding out his hand. She shrank 
back. What did it mean ! 

Then in a second she saw her father’s face. This 
fine gentleman, this dignified and graceful man, was 
indeed Stede Bonnet. 

He had been so thoroughly ashamed of his mean at- 
tire on the preceding day that he had determined not 
again to meet his daughter and Master Delaplaine in 
such vulgar guise. So from the resources of the store- 
houses he had drawn forth a superb suit of clothes sent 
westward for the governor of one of the French col- 
onies. He excused himself for taking it from Black- 
beard’s treasure-house, not only on account of the de- 
mands of the emergency, but because he himself had 
taken it before from a merchantman. 

“Father ! ” cried Kate, “what has happened to you! 
I never saw such a fine gentleman.” 

Bonnet smiled with complacency, and removed his 
cocked hat. 

“I always endeavor, my dear,” said he, “to dress 
myself according to my station. Yesterday, not ex- 
pecting to see you, I was in a sad plight. I would have 
preferred you to meet me in my naval uniform ; but as 
that is now, to say the least, inconvenient, and as I re- 
side on shore in the capacity of a merchant or business 
man, I attire myself to suit my present condition. 
Ah, my good brother-in-law, I am glad to see you ! I 
may remark,” he added, graciously shaking hands with 
Dame Charter, “that I left my faithful Scotchman in 
our storehouse in the town, it being necessary for some 
one to attend to our possessions there. Otherwise I 
should have brought him with me, my good Dame 
224 


WISE MASTER DELAPLAINE 


Charter, for I am sure you would have found his com- 
pany acceptable. He is a faithful man and an honest 
one, although I am bound to say that if he were less 
of a Presbyterian and more of a man of the world his 
conversation might sometimes be more agreeable.” 

Master Delaplaine regarded with much earnestness 
and no little pleasure his transformed brother-in-law. 
Hope for the future now filled his heart. If this crack- 
brained sugar-planter had really recovered from his 
mania for piracy and had a fancy for legitimate busi- 
ness, his new station might be better for him than any 
he had yet known. Sugar-planting was all well enough 
and suitable to any gentleman, provided Madam Bon- 
net were not taken with it. She would drive any man 
from the paths of reason unless he possessed an uncom- 
monly strong brain, and he did not believe that such 
a brain was possessed by his brother-in-law Bonnet. 
The good Master Delaplaine rubbed his hands together 
in his satisfaction. Such a gentleman as this would 
be welcome in his counting-house, even if he did but 
little ; his very appearance would reflect credit upon 
the establishment. Dame Charter kept in the back- 
ground ; she had never been accustomed to associate 
with the aristocracy : but she did not forget that a cat 
may look at a king, and her eyes were very good. 

“There were always little cracks in his skull,” she 
said to herself. “My husband used to tell me that. 
Major Bonnet is quick at changing from one thing to 
another, and it needs sharp wits to follow him.” 

After a time Major Bonnet proposed a row upon 
the harbor— he had brought a large boat, with four 
oarsmen, for this purpose. Master Delaplaine ob- 
jected a little to this, fearing the presence of so many 
225 


KATE BONNET 

pirate vessels ; but Bonnet loftily set aside such puerile 
objections. 

“I am the business representative of the great Black- 
beard,” he said, “the most powerful pirate in the 
world. You are safer here than in any other port on 
the American coast.” 

When they were out upon the water, moving against 
the gentle breeze, Bonnet disclosed the object of his 
excursion. “I am going to take you,” said he, “to 
visit some of the noted pirate ships which are anchored 
in this harbor. There are vessels here which are quite 
famous, and commanded by renowned brethren of the 
coast. I think you will all be greatly interested in 
these, and under my convoy you need fear no danger.” 

Dame Charter and Kate screamed in their fright, 
and Master Delaplaine turned pale. “Visit pirate 
ships ! ” he cried. “Bather I would have supposed 
that you would keep away from them as far as you 
could. For myself, I would have them a hundred 
miles distant if it were possible.” 

Bonnet laughed loftily. “It will be visits of cere- 
mony that we shall pay, and with all due ceremony 
shall we be received. Pull out to that vessel ! ” he 
said to the oarsmen. Then, turning to the others, he 
remarked : “That sloop is the Dripping Blade , com- 
manded by Captain Sorby, whose name strikes terror 
throughout the Spanish Main— ay, and in other parts 
of the ocean, I can assure you, for he has sailed north- 
ward nearly as far as I have ; but he has not yet ri- 
valled me. I know him, having done business with 
him on shore. He is a most portentous person, as you 
will soon see.” 

“Oh, father ! ” cried Kate, “don’t take us there ; it 
226 


WISE MASTER DELAPLAINE 


will kill us just to look upon such dreadful pirates. I 
pray you turn the boat ! ” 

“Oh, if Dickory were here,” gasped Dame Charter, 
“he would turn the boat himself ; he would never al- 
low me to be taken among those awful wretches.” 

Master Delaplaine said nothing. It was too late to 
expostulate, but he trembled as he sat. 

“I cannot turn back, my dear,” said Bonnet, “even 
if I would, for the great Sorby is now on deck and 
looking at us as we approach.” 

As the boat drew up by the side of the Dripping 
Blade the renowned Sorby looked down over the side. 
He was a red-headed man, his long hair and beard 
dyed yellow in some places by the sun. He was griev- 
ous to look upon, and like to create in the mind of an 
imaginative person the image of a sunburned devil 
on a holiday. 

“Good day to you ! Good day, Sir Bonnet,” cried 
the pirate captain ; “come on board, come on board, 
all of you, wife, daughter, father, if such they be ! 
We’ll let down ladders, and I shall feast you finely.” 

“Hay, nay, good Captain Sorby,” replied Bonnet, 
with courteous dignity ; “my family and I have just 
stopped to pay you our respects. They have all heard 
of your great prowess, for I have told them. They 
may never have a chance again to look upon another 
of your fame.” 

“Heaven grant it ! ” said Dame Charter in her heart. 
“If I get out of this, I stay upon dry land forever.” 

“I grieve that my poor ship be not honored by your 
ladies,” said Sorby, “but I admit that her decks are 
scarcely fit for the reception of such company. It is 
but to-day that we have found time to cleanse her deck 
227 


KATE BONNET 


from the stain and disorder of our last fight, having 
lately come into harbor. That was a great fight, Sir 
Bonnet ,* we lay low and let the fellows board us, but 
not one of them went back again. Ha, ha ! Hot one 
of them went back again, good ladies.” 

Every pirate face on board that ill-conditioned sloop 
now glared over her rail, their eyes fixed upon the 
goodly company in the little boat, their horrid hair 
and beards stained and matted— it would have been 
hard to tell by what. 

“Oh, father, father!” panted Kate, “please row 
away. What if they should now jump down upon 
us?” 

“Good day, good day, my brave Captain Sorby,” 
said Bonnet ; “we must e’en row away ; we have other 
craft to visit, but would first do honor to you and your 
bold crew.” 

Captain Sorby lifted high his great bespattered hat, 
and every grinning demon of the crew waved hat or 
rag or pail or cutlass and set up a discordant yell in 
honor of their departing visitors. 

“Oh ! go not to another, father,” pleaded Kate, her 
pale face in tears ; “visit no more of them, I pray you ! ” 

“Ay, truly, keep away from them,” said Master Dela- 
plaine. “I am no coward, but I vow to you that I 
shall die of fright if I come close to another of those 
floating hells.” 

“And these,” said Kate to herself, her eyes fixed 
out over the sea, “these are his friends, his companions, 
the wretches of whom he is so proud ! ” 

“There are no more vessels like that in port,” said 
Bonnet ; “that’s the most celebrated sloop. Those we 
shall now call upon are commanded by men of milder 
228 


WISE MASTER DELAPLAINE 


mien ; some of them you could not tell from plain mer- 
chantmen were you not informed of their illustrious 
careers.” 

“If you go near another pirate ship,” cried Dame 
Charter, “I shall jump overboard j I cannot help it.” 

“Row back to the Belinda , brother-in-law,” said 
Master Delaplaine in a strong, hard voice ; “your 
tour of pleasure is not fit for tender-hearted women, 
nor, I grant it, for gentlemen of my station.” 

“There are other ships whose captains I know,” said 
Bonnet, “and where you would have been well re- 
ceived ; but if your nerves are not strong enough for 
the courtesies I have to offer, we will return to the 
Belinda .” 

When safe again on board their vessel, after the sud- 
den termination of their projected tour of calls on 
pirates, Kate took her father aside and entered into 
earnest conversation with him, while Master Dela- 
plaine, much ruffled in his temper, although in gen- 
eral of a most mild disposition, said aside to Dame 
Charter : “He is as mad as a March hare. What other 
parent on this earth would convey his fair young 
daughter into the society of these vile wild beasts, 
which in his eyes are valiant heroes? We must get 
him back with us, Dame Charter j we must get him 
back. And if he cannot be constrained by love and 
good will to a decent and a Christian life, we must 
shut him up $ and if his daughter weeps and raves, we 
must e’en stiffen our determination and shut him up. 
It shall be my purpose now to hasten the return of the 
brig. There’s room enough for all, and he and the 
Scotchman must go back with us. The governor shall 
deal with him ; and, whether it be on my estate or be- 
229 


KATE BONNET 


hind strong bars, be shall spend the rest of his days 
upon the island of Jamaica, and so know the sea no 
more.” 

He was very much roused, this good merchant, and 
when he was roused he was not slow to act. 

The captain of the Belinda was very willing to make 
a profitable voyage back to Jamaica, but his vessel 
must be well laden before he could do this. Goods 
enough there were at Belize for that purpose, for 
Blackbeard’s supplies were all for sale, and his chief 
clerk, Bonnet, had the selling of them. So, all parties 
being like-minded, the Belinda soon began to take on 
goods for Kingston. 

Stede Bonnet superintended everything. He was a 
good man of business, and knew how to direct people 
who might be under him. There was a great stir at 
the storehouse, and, almost blithely, Ben Greenway 
worked day and night to make out invoices and to 
prepare goods for shipment. 

Bonnet wore no more the clothes in which his 
daughter had first seen him after so long and drear a 
parting. On deck or on shore, in storehouse or on 
the streets of Belize, he was the fine gentleman with 
the silk stockings and the tall cocked hat. 

One day a fellow fresh from his bottle, forgetting 
the respect which was due to fine clothes and to Black- 
beard’s factor, called out to Bonnet : “What now, 
Sir Nightcap ? How call you that thing you have on 
your head ? ” 

In an instant a sword was whipped from its scabbard 
and a practised hand sent its blade through the arm 
of the jester, who presently fell backward. Bonnet 
wiped his sword upon the fellow’s sleeve and, advis- 
230 


WISE MASTER DELAPLAINE 


ing him to get up and try to learn some manners, 
coolly walked away. 

After that fine clothes were not much laughed at in 
Belize, for even the most disrespectful ruffians desired 
not the thrust of a quick blade nor the ill will of that 
most irascible pirate Blackbeard. 

A few days before it was expected that the Belinda 
would be ready to sail, Bonnet came on board, his mind 
full of an important matter. Calling Master Dela- 
plaine and Kate aside, he said : “I have been thinking 
a great deal lately about my Scotchman, Ben Green- 
way. In the first place, he is greatly needed here, for 
many of Blackbeard’s goods will remain in the store- 
house, and there should be some competent person to 
take care of them and to sell them should opportunity 
offer. Besides that, he is a great annoyance to me, and 
I have long been trying to get rid of him. When I 
left Bridgetown I had not intended to take him with 
me, and his presence on board my ship was a mere 
accident. Since then he has made himself very dis- 
agreeable.” 

“What!” cried Kate, “would you be willing that 
we should all sail away and leave poor Ben Green- 
way in this place by himself among these cruel 
pirates? ” 

“He’ll represent Blackbeard,” said Bonnet, “and 
no one will harm him. And, moreover, this enforced 
stay may be of the greatest benefit to him. He has a 
good head for business, and he may establish himself 
here in a very profitable fashion, and go back to Bar- 
bados, if he so desires, in comfortable circumstances. 
All we have to do is to slip our anchor and sail away 
at some moment when he is busy in the town. I will 
231 


KATE BONNET 

leave ample instructions for him, and lie shall have 
money.” 

“Father, it would be shameful ! ” said Kate. 

Master Delaplaine said nothing ; he was too angry 
to speak, but he made up his mind that Ben Greenway 
should be apprised of Bonnet’s intentions of running 
away from him, and that such a wicked design should 
be thwarted. This brother-in-law of his was a worse 
man than he had thought him ; he was capable of 
being false even to his best friend. He might be mad 
as a March hare, but, truly, he was also as sly and 
crafty as a fox in any month in the year. 

Wise Master Delaplaine ! 

The very next morning there came a letter from 
Stede Bonnet to his daughter Kate, in which he told 
her that it was absolutely impossible for him to return 
to the humdrum and stupid life of sugar-planting and 
cattle-raising. Having tasted the glories of a pirate’s 
career, he could never again be contented with plain 
country pursuits. So he was off and away, the bound- 
ing sea beneath him and the brave Jolly Roger float- 
ing over his head. He would not tell his dear 
daughter where he was gone or what he intended to 
do, for she would be happier if she did not know. He 
sent her his warmest love, and desired to be most 
kindly remembered to her uncle and to Dame Charter. 
He would make it his business that a correspondence 
should be maintained between him and his dear Kate, 
and he hoped from time to time to send her presents 
which would help her to know how constantly he 
loved her. He concluded by admitting that what he 
had said about Ben Greenway was merely a blind to 
turn their suspicions from his intended departure. If 
232 


WISE MASTER DELAPLAINE 


his good brother-in-law, out of kindness to the Scotch- 
man, had brought him to the Belinda and had insisted 
on keeping him there, it would have made his, Bon- 
net’s, secret departure a great deal easier. 

Kate had never fainted in her life, but when she 
had finished this letter she went down flat on her 
back. 

Leaving his niece to the good offices of Dame Char- 
ter, Master Delaplaine, breathing hotly, went ashore, 
accompanied by the captain. When they reached the 
storehouse they found it locked, with the key in the 
custody of a shopkeeper near by. They soon heard 
what had happened to Blackboard’s business agent 
He had gone off in a piratical vessel, which had sailed 
for somewhere in the middle of the night $ and, more- 
over, it was believed that the Scotchman who worked 
for him had gone with him, for he had been seen run- 
ning toward the water, and afterwards taking his 
place among the oarsmen in a boat which went out to 
the departing vessel. 

“May that unholy vessel be sunk as soon as it 
reaches the open sea ! n was the deadly desire which 
came from the heart of Master Delaplaine. But the 
wish had not formed itself into words before the good 
merchant recanted. “I totally forgot that faithful 
Scotchman,” he sighed. 


233 


CHAPTER XXVI 


DICKORY STRETCHES HIS LEGS 

There were jolly times on board the swift ship 
Revenge as she sped through the straits of Florida 
on her way up the Atlantic coast. The skies were 
bright, the wind was fair, and the warm waters of the 
Gulf Stream helped to carry her bravely on her way. 
But young Dickory Charter, with the blood-stained 
letter of Captain Vince tucked away in the lining of 
his coat, ate so little, tossed about so much in his berth, 
turned so pale, and spoke so seldom that the bold Cap- 
tain Blackbeard declared that he should have some 
medicine. 

“I shall not let my fine lieutenant suffer for want 
of drugs,’ 7 he cried, “and when I reach Charles Town 
I shall send ashore a boat and procure some j and if 
the citizens disturb or interfere with my brave fellows, 
I’ll bombard the town. There will be medicine to 
take on one side or the other, I swear.” And loud 
and ready were the oaths he swore. 

A pirate who carries with him an intended son-in- 
law is not likely, if he be of Blackbeard’s turn of mind, 
to suffer all his family plans to be ruined for the want 
of a few drugs. 

When Dickory heard what the captain had to say 
234 


DICKORY STRETCHES HIS LEGS 


on this subject his heart shrank within him. He had 
never taken medicine and he had never seen Black- 
beard’s daughter, but the one seemed to him almost 
as bad as the other, and the thought of the cool waves 
beneath him became more attractive than ever before. 
But that thought was quickly banished, for he had 
a duty before him, and not until that was performed 
could he take leave of this world, once so bright to 
him. 

An island with palm-trees slowly rose on the hori- 
zon, and off this island it was that, after a good deal 
of tacking and close-hauling, the Revenge lay to to take 
in water— far better water than that which had been 
brought from Belize. 

“Do you want to go ashore in the boat, boy!” said 
Blackbeard, really mindful of the health of this pro- 
jected member of his family. “It may help your ap- 
petite to use your legs.” 

Dickory did not care to go anywhere, but he had 
hardly said so when a revulsion of feeling came upon 
him, and, turning away so that his face might not be 
noticed, he said he thought the land air might do him 
good. While the men were at work carrying their 
pails from the well-known spring to the water-barrels 
in the boat, Dickory strolled about to view the scenery, 
for it could never have been expected that a first lieu- 
tenant in uniform should help to carry water. At 
first the scenery did not appear to be very interesting, 
and Dickory wandered slowly from here to there, then 
sat down under a tree. Presently he rose and went 
to another tree, a little farther away from the boat 
and the men at the spring. Here he quietly took off 
his shoes and his stockings, and, having nothing else 
235 


KATE BONNET 


to do, made a little bundle of them, listlessly tying 
them to his belt ,* then he rose and walked away some- 
what brisker, but not in the direction of the boat. He 
did not hurry, but even stopped sometimes to look at 
things ; but he still walked a little briskly, and always 
away from the boat. He had been so used, this child 
of outdoor life, to going about the world barefooted, 
that it was no wonder that he walked briskly, being 
relieved of his encumbering shoes and stockings. 

After a time he heard a shout behind him, and, 
turning, saw three men of the boat’s crew upon a little 
eminence, calling to him. Then he moved more 
quickly, always away from the boat, and with his 
head turned he saw the men running toward him, 
and their shouts became louder and wilder. Then he 
set off on a good run, and presently heard a pistol- 
shot. This he knew was to frighten him and make 
him stop $ but he ran the faster, and soon turned the 
corner of a bit of woods. Then he was away at the 
top of his speed, making for a jungle of foliage not a 
quarter of a mile before him. Shouts he heard, and 
more shots, but he caught sight of no pursuers. Urged 
on even as they were by the fear of returning to the- 
ship without Dickory, they could not expect to match, 
in their heavy boots, the stag-like speed of this bare- 
footed bounder. 

After a time Hickory stopped running, for his path, 
always straight away, so far as he could judge, from 
the landing-place, became very difficult. In the forest 
there were streams, sometimes narrow and sometimes 
wide, and how deep he knew not, so that now he 
jumped, now he walked on fallen trees. Sometimes 
he crossed water and marsh by swinging himself from 
236 


DICKORY STRETCHES HIS LEGS 


the limbs of one tree to those of another. This was 
hard work for a young gentleman in a naval uniform 
and cocked hat, but it had to be done ; and when the 
hat was knocked off it was picked up again, with its 
feathers dripping. 

Dickory was going somewhere, although he knew 
not whither, and he had solemn business to perform 
which he had sworn to do, and therefore he must have 
fit clothes to wear, not only in which to travel but in 
which to present himself suitably when he should 
accomplish his mission. All these things Dickory 
thought of, and he picked up his cocked hat when- 
ever it dropped. He would have been very hungry 
had he not bethought himself to fill his pockets with 
biscuits before he left the vessel. And as to fresh 
water, there was no lack of that. 


237 


CHAPTER XXVII 


A GIRL WHO LAUGHED 

It was toward nightfall of the day on which Dickory 
had escaped from the pirates at the spring that he 
found himself on a piece of high ground in an open 
place in the forest, and here he determined to spend 
the night. With his dirk he cut a quantity of pal- 
metto leaves and made himself a very comfortable 
bed, on which he was soon asleep, fearing no pirates. 

In the morning he rose early from his green couch, 
ate the few biscuits which were left in his pockets, 
and, putting on his shoes and stockings, started forth 
upon what might have been supposed to be an aim- 
less tramp. 

But it was not aimless. Dickory had a most whole- 
some dread of that indomitable apostle of cruelty and 
wickedness the pirate Blackbeard. He believed that 
it would be quite possible for that savage being to tie 
up his beard in tails, to blacken his face with powder, 
to hang more pistols from his belt and around his 
neck, and to swear that the Revenge should never leave 
her anchorage until her first lieutenant had been cap- 
tured and brought back to her. So he had an aim, 
and that was to get away as far as possible from the 
spot where he had landed on the island. 

238 


A GIRL WHO LAUGHED 


He did not believe that his pursuers, if there were 
any upon his track, could have travelled in the night, 
for it had been pitchy black ; and as he now had a 
good start of them, he thought he might go so far that 
they would give up the search. Then he hoped to be 
able to keep himself alive until he was reasonably sure 
that the Revenge had hoisted anchor and sailed away, 
when it was his purpose to make his way back to the 
spring and wait for some other vessel which would 
take him away. 

With his shoes on he travelled more easily, although 
not so swiftly, and after an hour of very rough walk- 
ing he heard a sound which made him stop instantly 
and listen. At first he thought it might be the wind 
in the trees, but soon his practised ear told him that 
it was the sound of the surf upon the beach. With- 
out the slightest hesitation, he made his way as quickly 
as possible toward the sound of the sea. 

In less than half an hour he found himself upon a 
stretch of sand which extended from the forest to the 
sea, and upon which the waves were throwing them- 
selves in long, crested lines. With a cry of joy he ran 
out upon the beach, and with outstretched arms he 
welcomed the sea as if it had been an old and well- 
tried friend. 

But Dickory’s gratitude and joy had nothing to 
found itself upon. The sea might far better have 
been his enemy than his friend, for, if he had thought 
about it, the sandy beach would have been the road 
by which a portion of the pirate’s men would have 
marched to cut off his flight, or they would have ac- 
complished the same end in boats. 

But Dickory thought of no enemy, and his heart 
239 


KATE BONNET 


was cheered. He pressed on along the beach. The 
walking was so much better now that he made good 
progress, and the sun had not reached its zenith when 
he found himself on the shore of a small stream which 
came down from some higher land in the interior and 
here poured itself into the sea. He walked some dis- 
tance by this stream in order to get some water which 
might be free from brackishness, and then, with very 
little trouble, he crossed it. Before him was a knoll 
of moderate height and covered with low foliage. 
Mounting this, he found that he had an extended view 
over the interior of the island. In the background 
there stretched a wide savanna, and at the distance of 
about half a mile he saw, very near a little cluster of 
trees, a thin column of smoke. His eyes rounded, and 
he stared and stared. He now perceived from behind 
the leaves the end of a thatched roof. 

“ People ! ” Dickory exclaimed, and his heart beat 
fast with joy. Why his heart should be joyful he 
could not have told himself, except that there was no 
earthly reason to believe that the persons who were 
making that fire near that thatched-roof house were 
pirates. To go to this house, whatever it might be, 
to take his chances there instead of remaining alone 
in the wide forest, was our young man’s instant deter- 
mination. But before he started there was something 
else he thought of. He took off his coat, and with a 
bunch of leaves he brushed it. Then he arranged the 
plumes of his hat and brushed some mud from them, 
gave himself a general shake, and was ready to make 
a start. All this by a fugitive pursued by savage pi- 
rates on a desert island ! But Hickory was a young 
man, and he wore the uniform of a naval officer. 

240 


A GIRL WHO LAUGHED 


After a brisk walk, which was somewhat longer 
than he had supposed it would be, Dickory reached 
the house behind the trees. At a short distance 
burned the fire whose smoke he had seen. Over the 
fire hung an iron pot. Oh, blessed pot ! A gentle 
breeze blew from the fire toward Dickory, and from 
the heavenly odor which was borne upon it he knew 
that something good to eat was cooking in that pot. 

A man came quickly from behind the house. He 
was tall, with a beard a little gray, and his scanty 
attire was of the most nondescript fashion. With 
amazement upon his face, he spoke to Dickory in 
English. 

“What, sir,” he cried, “has a man-of-war touched 
at this island ? ” 

Dickory could not help smiling, for the man’s coun- 
tenance told him how he had been utterly astounded, 
and even stupefied, by the sight of a gentleman in 
naval uniform in the interior of that island, an almost 
desert region. 

“Ho man-of-war has touched here,” said Dickory, 
“and I don’t belong to one. I wear these clothes 
because I am compelled to do so, having no others. 
Yesterday afternoon I escaped from some pirates who 
stopped for water, and since leaving them I have 
made my way to this spot.” 

The man stepped forth quickly and stretched out 
his hand. 

“Bless you ! Bless you ! ” he cried. “You are the 
first human being, other than my family, that I have 
seen for two years.” 

A little girl now came from behind the house, and 
when her eyes fell upon Dickory and his cocked hat 
241 


KATE BONNET 


she screamed with terror and ran indoors. A woman 
appeared at the door, evidently the man’s wife. She 
had a pleasant face, but her clothes riveted Dickory’s 
attention. It would be impossible to describe them 
even if one were gazing upon them. It will be enough 
to say that they covered her. Her amazement more 
than equalled that of her husband ; she stood and 
stared, but could not speak. 

“From the spring at the end of the island,” cried 
the man, “to this house since yesterday afternoon ! I 
have always supposed that no one could get here from 
the spring by land. I call that way impassable. You 
are safe here, sir, I am sure. Pirates would not follow 
very far through those forests and morasses; they 
would be afraid they would never get back to their 
ship. But I will find out for certain if you have rea- 
son, sir, to fear pursuit by boat or otherwise.” 

And then, stepping around to the other end of the 
house, he called, “Lucilla ! ” 

“You are hungry, sir,” said the woman ; “presently 
you shall share our meal, which is almost cooked.” 

How the man returned. 

“This is not a time for questions, sir,” he said, 
“either from you or from us. You must eat and you 
must rest ; then we can talk. We shall not any of us 
apologize for our appearance, and you will not expect 
it when you have heard our story. But I can assure 
you, sir, that we do not look nearly so strange to you 
as you appear to us. Hever before, sir, did I see in this 
climate, and on shore, a man attired in such fashion.” 

Dickory smiled. “I will tell you the tale of it,” 
he said, “when we have eaten; I admit that I am 
famished.” 


242 


A GIRL WHO LAUGHED 


The man was now called away, and when he re- 
turned he said to Dickory : “Fear nothing, sir j your 
ship is no longer at the anchorage by the spring. She 
has sailed away, wisely concluding, I suppose, that 
pursuit of you would be folly, and even madness.” 

The dinner was an exceedingly plain one, spread 
upon a rude table under a tree. The little girl, who 
had overcome her fear of “the soldier,” as she consid- 
ered him, made one of the party. 

During the meal Dickory briefly told his story, con- 
fining it to a mere statement of his escape from the 
pirates. 

“Blackbeard ! ” exclaimed the man. “Truly you 
did well to get away from him, no matter into what 
forests you plunged or upon what desert island you 
lost yourself. At any moment he might have turned 
upon you and cut you to pieces to amuse himself. I 
have heard the most horrible stories of Blackbeard.” 

“He treated me very well,” said Dickory j “but I 
know from his own words that he reserved me for a 
most horrible fate.” 

“What!” exclaimed the man, “and he told you? 
He is indeed a demon ! ” 

“Yes,” said Dickory ; “he said over and over again 
that he was going to take me to England to marry me 
to his daughter.” 

At this the wife could not refrain from a smile. 
“Matrimony is not generally considered a horrible 
fate,” said she ; “perhaps his daughter may be a most 
comely and estimable young person. Girls do not al- 
ways resemble their fathers.” 

“Do not mention it,” exclaimed Dickory, with a 
shudder ; “that was one reason that I ran away $ I 
243 


KATE BONNET 


preferred any danger from man or beast to that be 
was taking me to.” 

“He is engaged to be married,” thought the woman ; 
“it is easy enough to see that.” 

“How tell me your story, I pray you,” said Dickory. 
“But first I would like very much to know how you 
found out that Blackbeard’s ship was not at her anch- 
orage ? ” 

“ That’s a simple thing,” said the man. “Of course 
you did not observe, for you could not, that from its 
eastern point, where lies the spring, this island 
stretches in a long curve to the south, reaching north- 
ward again about this spot. Consequently there is a 
little bay to the east of us, across which we can see 
the anchoring-ground of such ships as may stop here 
for water. Your way around the land curve of the 
island was a long one, but the distance straight across 
the bay is but a few miles. Upon a hill not far from 
here there is a very tall tree which overtops all the 
other trees, and to the upper branches of this tree my 
daughter, who is a great climber, frequently ascends 
with a small glass, and is thus able to report if there 
is a vessel at the anchorage.” 

“What !” exclaimed Dickory, “that little girl?” 

“Oh, no ! ” said the man ; “it is my other daughter, 
who is a grown young woman.” 

“She is not here now,” said the mother ; and this 
piece of unnecessary information was given in tones 
which might indicate that the young lady had stepped 
around to visit a neighbor. 

“It is important,” said the man, “that I should 
know if vessels have anchored here, for if they be mer- 
chantmen I sometimes do business with them.” 


244 


A GIRL WHO LAUGHED 


“Business ! ” said Dickory. “That sounds extremely 
odd. Pray tell me how you came to he here.” 

“My name is Mander,” said the other, “and about 
two years ago I was on my way from England to Bar- 
bados, where, with my wife and two girls, I expected 
to settle. We were captured by a pirate ship and 
marooned upon this island. I will say, to the pirate 
captain’s credit, that he was a good sort of man consid- 
ering his profession. He sailed across the bay on 
purpose to find a suitable place to land us, and he left 
with us some necessary articles, such as axes and tools, 
kitchen utensils, and a gun with some ammunition. 
Then he sailed away, leaving us here, and here we 
have since lived. Under the circumstances, we have 
no right to complain, for had we been taken by an 
ordinary pirate it is likely that our bones would now 
be lying at the bottom of the ocean. 

“Here I have worked hard and have made myself 
a home, such as it is. There are wild cattle upon the 
distant savannas, and I trap game and birds, cultivate 
the soil to a certain extent, and if we had clothes I 
might say we would be in better circumstances than 
many a respectable family in England. Sometimes 
when a merchantman anchors here and I have hides 
or anything else which we can barter for things we 
need, I row over the bay in a canoe which I have 
made, and have thus very much bettered our con- 
dition. But in no case have I been able to provide 
my family with suitable clothes.” 

“Why did you not get some of these merchant-ships 
to carry you away ? ” asked Dickory. 

The man shook his head. “There is no place,” he 
said sadly, “to which I can in reason ask a ship to 
245 


KATE BONNET 


carry me and my family. We have no money, no 
property whatever. In any other place I would be 
far poorer than I am here. My children are not un- 
educated ; my wife and I have done our best for them 
in that respect, and we have some books with us. So, 
as you see, it would be rash in me to leave a home 
which, rude as it is, shelters and supports my family, 
to go as paupers and strangers to some other land.” 

The wife heaved a sigh. “But poor Lucilla ! ” she 
said. “It is dreadful that she should be forced to 
grow up here.” 

“Lucilla?” asked Dickory. 

“Yes, sir,” she said ; “my eldest daughter. But she 
is not here now.” 

Dickory thought that it was somewhat odd that he 
should be again informed of a fact which he knew 
very well, but he made no remarks upon the subject. 

Still wearing his cocked hat— for he had nothing 
else with which to shield his head from the sun— and 
with his uniform coat on, for he had not yet an op- 
portunity of ripping from it the letter he carried, and 
this he would not part from, Dickory roamed about 
the little settlement. Mander was an industrious and 
thrifty man. His garden, his buildings, and his sur- 
roundings showed that. 

Walking past a clump of low bushes, Dickory was 
startled by a laugh— a hearty laugh— the laugh of a 
girl. Looking quickly around, he saw, peering above 
the tops of the bushes, the face of the girl who had 
laughed. 

“It is too funny ! ” she said, as his eyes fell upon 
her. “I never saw anything so funny in all my life. 
A man in regimentals in this weather and upon a 
246 


A GIRL WHO LAUGHED 


desert island ! You look as if you had marched faster 
than your army, and that you had lost it in the 
forest.” 

Dickory smiled. “You ought not to laugh at me,” 
he said, “for these clothes are really a great misfor- 
tune. If I could change them for something cool I 
should be more than delighted.” 

“You might take off your heavy coat,” said she ; 
“you need not be on parade here. And instead of 
that awful hat I can make you one of long grass. Do 
you see the one I have on? Isn’t that a good hat? I 
have one nearly finished which I am making for my 
father ; you may have that.” 

Dickory would most gladly have taken off his coat 
if, without observation, he could have transferred his 
sacred letter to some other part of his clothes ; but he 
must wait for that. He accepted instantly, however, 
the offer of the hat. 

“You seem to know all about me,” he said ; “did 
you hear me tell my story?” 

“Every word of it,” said she, “and it is the queerest 
story I ever heard. Think of a pirate carrying a man 
away to marry him to his daughter ! ” 

“But why don’t you come from behind that bush 
and talk to me ? ” 

“I can’t do it,” said she ; “I am dressed funnier than 
you are. Now I am going to make your hat.” And 
in an instant she had departed. 

Dickory now strolled on, and when he returned he 
seated himself in the shade near the house. The letter 
of Captain Vince was taken from his coat-lining and 
secured in one of his breeches pockets ; his heavy coat 
and waistcoat lay upon the ground beside him, with 
247 


KATE BONNET 


the cocked hat placed upon them. As he leaned back 
against the tree and inhaled the fragrant breeze which 
came to him from the forest, Dickory was a more 
cheerful young man than he had been for many, many 
days. He thought of this himself, and wondered how 
a man carrying with him his sentence of lifelong 
misery could lean against a tree and take pleasure in 
anything, be it a hospitable welcome, a sense of free- 
dom from danger, a fragrant breeze, or the face of a 
pretty girl behind a bush. But these things did please 
him ; he could not help it. And when presently came 
Mrs. Mander, bringing him a light grass hat fresh from 
the manufacturer’s hands, he took it and put it on 
with more evident pleasure than the occasion seemed 
to demand. 

“Your daughter is truly an artist,” said Dickory. 

“She does many things well,” said the mother, “be- 
cause necessity compels her and all of us to learn to 
work in various ways.” 

“Can I not thank her?” said Dickory. 

“Ho,” the mother answered ; “she is not here now.” 

Dickory had begun to hate that self-evident state- 
ment. 

“She’s looking out for ships ; her pride is a little 
touched that she missed Blackbeard’s vessel yester- 
day.” 

“Perhaps,” said Dickory, with a movement as if he 
would like to make a step in the direction of some tall 
tree upon a hill. 

“Ho,” said Mrs. Mander ; “I cannot ask you to join 
my daughter. I am compelled to state that her dress 
is not a suitable one in which to appear before a 
stranger.” 


248 


A GIRL WHO LAUGHED 


“Excuse me,” said Dickory ; “and I beg, madam, 
that you will convey to her my thanks for making 
me such an excellent hat.” 

A little later Mander joined Dickory. “I am sorry, 
sir,” said he, “that I am not able to present you to 
my daughter Lucilla. It is a great grief to us that 
her attire compels her to deny herself other company 
than that of her family. I really believe, sir, that it 
is Lucilla’s deprivations on this island which form at 
present my principal discontent with my situation. 
But we all enjoy good health, we have enough to eat, 
and shelter over us, and should not complain.” 

As soon as he was at liberty to do so, Dickory 
walked by the hedge of low bushes, and there, above 
it, was the bright face with the pretty grass hat. 

“I was waiting for you,” said she. “I wanted to 
see how that hat fitted, and I think it does nicely. 
And I wanted to tell you that I have been looking 
out for ships, but have not seen one. I don’t mean 
by that that I want you to go away almost as soon as 
you have come, but of course, if a merchant ship 
should anchor here, it would be dreadful for you not 
to know.” 

“I am not sure,” said Dickory, gallantly, “that I am 
in a hurry for a ship. It is truly very pleasant here.” 

“What makes it pleasant?” said the girl. 

Dickory hesitated for a moment. “The breeze from 
the forest,” said he. 

She laughed. “It is charming,” she said j “but there 
are so many places where there is just as good a 
breeze, or perhaps better. How I would like to go 
to some one of them ! To me this island is lonely 
and doleful. Every time I look over the sea for a 
249 


KATE BONNET 

ship I hope that one will come that can carry us 
away.” 

“Then,” said Dickory, “I wish a ship would come 
to-morrow and take us all away together.” 

She shook her head. “ As my father told you,” said 
she, “we have no place to go to.” 

Dickory thought a good deal about the sad condi- 
tion of the family of this worthy marooner. He 
thought of it even after he had stretched himself for 
the night upon the bed of palmetto -leaves beneath 
the tree against which he had leaned when he won- 
dered how he could be so cheerful under the shadow 
of the sad fate which was before him. 


250 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


lucilla’s ship 

As soon as Hickory had left off his cocked hat and his 
gold-embroidered coat the little girl Lena had ceased 
to be afraid of him, and the next morning she came 
to him, seated lonely,— for this was a busy household, 
—and asked him if he would like to take a walk. So, 
hand in hand, they wandered away. Presently they 
entered a path which led through the woods. 

“This is the way my sister goes to her lookout tree/ 7 
said the little girl. “Would you like to see that 
tree ? ” 

“Oh, yes ! ” said Dickory, and he spoke the truth. 

“She goes up to the very top,” said Lena, “to look 
for ships. I would never do that ; Pd rather never 
see a ship than to climb to the top of such a tree. I’ll 
show it to you in a minute ; we’re almost there.” 

At a little distance from the rest of the forest and 
upon a bluff which overlooked a stretch of lowland, 
and beyond that the bay, stood a tall tree with spread- 
ing branches and heavy foliage. 

“Up in the top of that is where she sits,” said the 
child, “and spies out for ships. That’s what she’s 
doing now. Don’t you see her up there ! ” 

“Your sister in the tree!” exclaimed Dickory. 

251 


KATE BONNET 


And Ms first impulse was to retire, for it had been 
made quite plain to him that he was not expected to 
present himself to the young lady of the house, should 
she be on the ground or in the air. But he did not 
retire. A voice came to him from the tree-top, and 
as he looked upward he saw the same bright face 
which had greeted him over the top of the bushes. 
Below it was a great bunch of heavy leaves. 

“So you have come to call on me, have you? ” said 
the lady in the tree. “I am glad to see you, but Pm 
sorry that I cannot ask you to come up -stairs. I am 
not receiving.” 

“He could not come up if he wanted to,” said Lena ; 
“he couldn’t climb a tree like that.” 

“And he doesn’t want to,” cried the nymph of the 
bay- tree. “I have been up here all the morning,” 
said she, “looking for ships, but not one have I seen.” 

“Isn’t that a tiresome occupation? ” asked Dickory. 

“Not altogether,” she said. “The branches up 
here make a very nice seat, and I nearly always bring 
a book with me. You will wonder how we get books ; 
but we had a few with us when we were marooned, 
and since that my father has always asked for books 
when he has an opportunity of trading off his hides. 
But I have read them all over and over again, and if 
it were not for the ships which I expect to come here 
and anchor, I am afraid I should grow melancholy.” 

“What sort of ships do you look for ? ” asked Dick- 
ory, who was gazing upward with so much interest 
that he felt a little pain in the back of his neck, and 
who could not help thinking of a framed engraving 
which hung in his mother’s little parlor, and which 
represented some angels composed of nothing but 
252 


LUCILLA’S SHIP 


heads and wings. He saw no wings under the head 
of the charming young creature in the tree, but there 
was no reason which he could perceive why she 
should not be an angel marooned upon a West Indian 
island. 

“ There are a great many of them,” said she, “and 
they’re all alike in one way— they never come. But 
there’s one of them in particular which I look for and 
look for and look for, and which I believe that some 
day I shall really see. I have thought about that 
ship so often and I have dreamed about it so often 
that I almost know it must come.” 

“Is it an English ship?” asked Dickory, speaking 
with some effort, for he found that the girl’s voice 
came down much more readily than his went up. 

“I don’t know,” said she, “but I suppose it must 
be, for otherwise I should not understand what the 
people on board should say to me. It is a large ship, 
strong and able to defend itself against any pirates. 
It is laden with all sorts of useful and valuable things, 
and among these are a great many trunks and boxes 
filled with different kinds of clothes. Also, there’s a 
great deal of money kept in a box by itself, and is in 
charge of an agent who is bringing it out to my fa- 
ther, supposing him to be now settled in Barbados. 
This money is generally a legacy for my father from a 
distant relative who has recently died. On this ship 
there are so many delightful things that I cannot even 
begin to mention them.” 

“And where is it going to?” asked Dickory. 

“That I don’t know exactly. Sometimes I think 
that it is going to the island of Barbados, where we 
originally intended to settle ; but then I imagine that 
253 


KATE BONNET 


there is some pleasanter place than Barbados, and if 
that’s the case the ship is going there.” 

“There can be no pleasanter place than Barbados,” 
cried Dickory. “I come from that island, where I 
was born ; there is no land more lovely in all the 
West Indies.” 

“Yon come from Barbados'?” cried the girl, “and 
it really is a pleasant island? ” 

“Most truly it is,” said he, “and the great dream 
of my life is to get back there.” Then he stopped. 
Was it really the dream of his life to get back there? 
That would depend upon several things. 

“If, then, you tell me the truth, my ship is bound 
for Barbados. And if she should go, would you like 
to go there with us? ” 

Dickory hesitated. “Not directly,” said he. “I 
would first touch at Jamaica.” 

For some moments there was no answer from the 
tree-top, and then came the question : “Is it a girl 
who lives there ? ” 

“Yes,” said Dickory, unguardedly ; “but also I have 
a mother in Jamaica.” 

“Indeed,” said she, “a mother ! Well, we might 
stop there and take the mother with us to Barbados. 
Would the girl want to go too? ” 

Dickory bent his head. “Alas ! ” said he, “I do not 
know.” 

Then spoke the little Lena. “I would not bother 
about any particular place to go to,” said she, “I’d 
be so glad to go anywhere that isn’t here. But it is 
not a real ship, you know.” 

“I don’t think I will take you,” called down Lu- 
cilla. “I don’t want too many passengers, especially 
254 


LUCILLA’S SHIP 


women I don’t know. But I often think there will 
be a gentleman passenger— one who really wants to 
go to Barbados and nowhere else. Sometimes he is 
one kind of a gentleman and sometimes another ; but 
he is never a soldier or a sailor, but rather one who 
loves to stay at home. And now, sir, I think I must 
take my glass and try to pick out a ship from among 
the spots on the far-distant waves.” 

“Come on,” said Lena. “Do you like to fish? Be- 
cause, if you do, I can take you to a good place.” 

The rest of the day Dickory spent with Mr. Mander 
and his wife, who were intelligent and pleasant peo- 
ple. They talked of their travels, their misfortunes, 
and their blessings, and Dickory yearned to pour out 
his soul to them, but he could not do so. His woes 
did not belong to himself alone ; they were not for 
the ears of strangers. He made up his mind what he 
would do. TJntil the morrow he would stay as a visi- 
tor with these most hospitable people, then he would 
ask for work. He would collect fire-wood, he would 
hunt, he would fish, he would do anything. And here 
he would support himself until there came some mer- 
chant ship bound southward which would carry him 
away. If the Mander family were any way embar- 
rassed or annoyed by his presence here, he would 
make a camp at a little distance and live there by 
himself. Perhaps the lady of the tree would kindly 
send him word if the ship he was looking for should 
come. 

It was about the middle of the afternoon, and Lena 
had dropped asleep beneath the tree where Dickory 
and her parents were conversing, when suddenly 
there rushed upon the little group a most surprising 
255 


KATE BONNET 


figure. At the first flash of thought Dickory sup- 
posed that a boy from the skies had dropped among 
them ; but in an instant he recognized the face he had 
seen above the bushes. It was Lucilla, the daughter 
of the house ! Upon her head was a little straw hat, 
and she wore a loose tunic and a pair of sailor’s trou- 
sers, which had been cut off and were short enough to 
show that her feet and ankles were bare. Around 
her waist she had a belt of skins, from which dangled 
a string of crimson sea-beans. Her eyes were wide 
open, her face was pale, and she was trembling with 
excitement. 

“What do you think ! ” she cried, not caring who 
was there or who might look at her. “There’s a ship 
at the spring, and there’s a boat rowing across the 
bay— a boat with four men in it ! ” 

All started to their feet. 

“A boat,” cried Mander, “with four men in it? 
Run, my dears, to the cave. Press into its depths as far 
as you can. There is nothing there to be afraid of, 
and no matter how frightened you are, press into its 
most distant depths. You, sir, will remain with me ; 
or would you rather escape ? If it is a pirate ship, it 
may be Blackbeard who has returned.” 

“Hot so,” cried Lucilla ,* “it is a merchant vessel, 
and they are making straight for the mouth of our 
stream.” 

“I will stay here with you,” said Dickory, “and 
stand by you, unless I may help your family seek the 
cave you speak of.” 

“Ho, no,” said Mander, “they don’t need you ; and, 
if you will do so, we will go down to the beach and 
meet these men j that will be better than to have 
256 


LUCILLA’S SHIP 


them search for us. They will know that people live 
here, for my canoe is drawn up on the beach.” 

“Is this safe?” cried Dickory. “Would it not be 
better for you to go with your family and hide with 
them ? I will meet the men in the boat.” 

“No, no,” said Mander. “If their vessel is no pirate, 
I do not fear them. But I will not have them here.” 

Now, after Mander had embraced his family, they 
hurried away in tears, the girl Lucilla casting not 
one glance at Dickory. Impressed by the impulse 
that it was the proper thing to do, Dickory put on 
his coat and waistcoat and clapped upon his head his 
high cocked hat. Then he rapidly followed Mander 
to the beach, which they reached before the boat 
touched the sand. 

When the man in the stern of the boat, which was 
now almost within hailing distance, saw the two fig- 
ures run down upon the beach, he spoke to the oars- 
men, and they all stopped and looked around. The 
stop was occasioned by the sight of Dickory in his 
uniform $ and this, under the circumstances, was 
enough to stop any boat’s crew. Then they fell to 
again and pulled ashore. When the boat was beached, 
one of its occupants, a roughly dressed man, sprang 
ashore and walked cautiously toward Mander ; then 
he gave a great shout. 

“Heigh-ho, heigh-ho ! ” he cried. “And Mander, 
this is you ! ” 

Then there was great handshaking and many 
words. 

“Excuse me, sir,” said the man, raising his hat to 
Dickory ; “it is now more than two years since I have 
seen my friend here, when he was marooned by pi- 
257 


KATE BONNET 


rates. We were all on the same merchantman, bnt 
the pirate took me along, being short of hands. I got 
away at last, sir” (all the time addressing Dickory 
instead of Mander, this being respect to his rank), 
“and shipping on board that brig, sir, I begged it of 
the captain that he would drop anchor here and take 
in water, although I cannot say it was needed, and 
give me a chance to land and see if my old friend be 
yet alive. I knew the spot, having well noted it 
when Mander and his family were marooned.” 

“And this is Lucilla’s ship,” said Dickory to him- 
self. But to the sailor he said : “This is a great day 
for your friend and his family. Bnt you must not lift 
your hat to me, for I am no officer.” 

For a long time, at least it seemed so to Dickory, 
who wanted to- run to the cave and tell the good news, 
they all stood together on the sands and talked and 
shook hands and laughed and were truly thankful, 
the men who had come in the boat as much so as 
those who were found on the island. It was agreed, 
and there was no discussion on this point, that the 
Mander family should be carried away in the brig, 
which was an English vessel bound for Jamaica, but 
the happy Mander would not ask any of the boat’s 
crew to visit him at his home. Instead, he besought 
them to return to their vessel and bring back some 
clothes for women, if any such should be included in 
her cargo. 

“My family,” said he, “are not in fit condition to 
venture themselves among well-clad people. They 
are, indeed, more like savages than am I myself.” 

“I doubt,” said Mander’s friend, “if the ship 
258 


LUCILLA’S SHIP 


carries goods of that description ; but perhaps the 
captain might let you have a bale of cotton cloth, 
although I suppose —’ 7 and here he looked a little 
embarrassed. 

“Oh, we can buy it,” cried Dickory, taking some 
pieces of gold from his pocket, being coin with which 
Blackbeard had furnished him, swearing that his first 
lieutenant could not feel like a true officer without 
money in his pocket ; “take this and fetch the cloth 
if nothing better can be had.” 

“Thank you,” cried Mander ; “my wife and daugh- 
ters can soon fashion it into shape.” 

“And,” added Dickory, reflecting a little and re- 
membering the general hues of Lucilla’s face, “if 
there be choice in colors, let the cloth be pink.” 

When Mander and Dickory reached the house they 
did not stop, but hurried on toward the cave, both 
of them together, for each thought only of the great 
joy they were taking with them. 

“Come out! Come out!” shouted Mander, as he 
ran ; and before they reached the cave its shuddering 
inmates had hurried into the light. When the cries 
and the tears and the embraces were over, Lucilla 
first looked at Dickory. She started, her face flushed, 
and she was about to draw back ; then she stopped 
and, advancing, held out her hand. 

“It cannot be helped,” she said; “anyway, you 
have seen me before, and I suppose it doesn’t matter. 
I’m a sailor-boy, and have to own up to it. I did 
hope you would think of me as a young lady, but we 
are all so happy now that that doesn’t matter. 
Oh, father ! ” she cried, “it can’t be ; we are not fit 
259 


KATE BONNET 

to be saved ; we must perish here in our wretched 
rags.” 

“Not so,” cried Dickory, with a bow ; “I’ve already 
bought you a gown, and I hope it is pink.” 

As they all hurried away, the tale of the hoped-for 
clothes was told $ and although Mrs. Mander wondered 
how gowns were to be made while a merchantman 
waited, she said nothing of her doubts, and they all 
ran gleefully. Lucilla and Dickory, being the fleet- 
est, led the others, and Dickory said : “Now that I 
have seen yon thus, I shall be almost sorry if that 
ship can furnish you with common clothes, what you 
wear becomes you so.” 

“Oho ! ’’-cried Lucilla, “that’s fine flattery, sir j but 
I am glad you said it, for that speech has made me 
feel more like a woman than I have felt since I first 
put on this sailor’s toggery.” 

In the afternoon the boat returned, Mander and 
Dickory watching on the beach. When it grounded, 
Davids, Mander’s friend, jumped on shore, bearing in 
his arms a pile of great coarse sacks. These he threw 
upon the sand and, handing to Dickory the gold 
pieces he had given him, said : “The captain sends 
word that he has no time to look over any goods to 
give or to sell ; but he sends these sacks, out of which 
the women can fashion themselves gowns, and so come 
aboard. Then the ship shall be searched for stuffs 
which will suit their purposes and which they can 
make at their leisure.” 

It was toward the close of the afternoon that all 
of the Mander family and Dickory came down to the 
boat which was waiting for them. 

“Do you know,” said Dickory, as he and Lucilla 
260 


LUCILLA’S SHIP 


stood together on the sand, “that in that gown of 
gray, with the white sleeves, and the red cord around 
your waist, you please me better than even you did 
when you wore your sailor garb? ” 

“And what matters it, sir, whether I please you or 
not?” 


261 


CHAPTEK XXIX 


CAPTAIN ICHABOD 

Kate Bonnet was indeed in a sad case. She had 
sailed from Kingston with high hopes and a gay 
heart, and before she left she had written to Master 
Martin Xewcombe to express her joy that her father 
had given up his unlawful calling, and to say how she 
was going to sail after him, fold him in her forgiving 
arms, and bring him back to Jamaica, where she and 
her uncle would see to it that his past sins were for- 
given on account of his irresponsible mind, and where, 
for the rest of his life, he would tread the paths of 
peace and probity. In this letter she had not yielded 
to the earnest entreaty which was really the object 
and soul of Master Newcombe’s epistle. Many kind 
things she said to so kind a friend, but to his offer to 
make her the queen of his life she made no answer. 
She knew she was his very queen, but she would not 
yet consent to be invested with the royal robes and 
with the crown. 

And when she had reached Belize, how proudly 
happy she had been ! She had seen her father, no 
longer an outlaw, honest though in mean condition, 
earning his bread by honorable labor. Then, with a 
still greater pride, she had seen him clad as a noble 
262 


CAPTAIN ICHABOD 


gentleman and bearing himself with dignity and high 
complacence. What a figure he would have made 
among the fine folk who were her uncle’s friends in 
Kingston and in Spanish Town ! 

But all this was over now. With his own hand he 
had told her that once again she was a pirate’s daugh- 
ter. She went below to her cabin, where, with wet 
cheeks, Dame Charter attended her. 

Master Delaplaine was angry, intensely angry. 
Such a shameful, wicked trick had never before been 
played upon a loving daughter. There were no 
words in which to express his most justifiable wrath. 
Again he went to the town to learn more ; but there 
was nothing more to learn, except that some people 
said they had reason to believe that Bonnet had gone 
to follow Blackbeard. From things they had heard 
they supposed that the vessel which had sailed away 
in the night had gone to offer herself as consort to 
the Revenge , to rob and burn in the company of that 
notorious ship. 

There was no satisfaction in this news for the heart 
of the good merchant, and when he returned to the 
brig and sought his niece’s cabin, he had no words 
with which to cheer her. All he could do was to tell 
her the little he had learned and to listen to her sup- 
plications. 

“Oh, uncle,” she exclaimed, “we must follow him, 
we must take him, we must hold him ! I care not 
where he is, even if it be in the company of the 
dreadful Blackbeard ! We must take him, we must 
hold him, and this time we must carry him away, no 
matter whether he will or not. I believe there must 
be some spark of feeling even in the heart of a bloody 
263 


KATE BONNET 


pirate which will make him understand a daughter’s 
love for her father, and he will let me have mine. 
Oh, uncle ! we were very wrong. When he was here 
with us we should have taken him then ; we should 
have shut him up ; we should have sailed with him to 
Kingston.” 

All this was very depressing to the soul of Kate’s 
loving uncle ; for how was he to sail after her father, 
and take him, and hold him, and carry him away! 
He went away to talk to the captain of the Belinda , 
but that tall seaman shook his head. His vessel was 
not ready yet to sail, being much delayed by the 
flight of Bonnet. And, moreover, he vowed that, al- 
though he was as bold a seaman as any, he would 
never consent to set out upon such an errand as the 
following of Blackbeard. It was terrifying enough to 
be in the same bay with him, even though he were 
engaged in business with the pirate, for no one knew 
what strange freak might at any time suggest itself to 
the soul of that most bloody roisterer 5 but as to fol- 
lowing him, it was like walking into an alligator’s 
jaws. He would take his passengers back to King- 
ston, but he could not sail upon any wild cruises, nor 
could he leave Belize immediately. 

But Kate took no notice of all this when her uncle 
had told it to her. She did not wish to go back to 
Jamaica ; she did not wish to wait at Belize. It was 
the clamorous longing of her heart to go after her fa- 
ther and to find him wherever he might be, and she 
did not care to consider anything else. 

Dame Charter added also her supplications. Her 
boy was with Blackbeard, and she wished to follow 
the pirate’s ship. Even if she should never see Major 
264 


CAPTAIN ICHABOD 


Bonnet,— whom she loathed and despised, though 
never saying so,— she would find her Dickory. She, 
too, believed that there must be some spark of feel- 
ing even in a bloody pirate’s heart which would make 
him understand the love of a mother for her son, and 
he would let her have her boy. 

Master Delaplaine sat brooding on the deck. The 
righteous anger kindled by the conduct of his brother- 
in-law, and his grief for the poor stricken women 
sobbing in the cabin, combined together to throw him 
into the most dolorous state of mind, which was ag- 
gravated by the knowledge that he could do nothing 
except to wait until the Belinda sailed back to Ja- 
maica and to go to Jamaica in her. 

As the unhappy merchant sat thus, his face buried 
in his hands, a small boat came alongside and a pas- 
senger mounted to the deck. This person, after ask- 
ing a few questions, approached Master Delaplaine. 

“I have come, sir, to see you,” he said. “I am 
Captain Ichabod of the sloop Restless.” 

Master Delaplaine looked up in surprise. “That is 
a pirate ship,” said he. 

“ Yes,” said the other ; “Fm a pirate.” 

The newcomer was a tall young man with long 
dark hair and with well-made features and a certain 
diffidence in his manner which did not befit his 
calling. 

Master Delaplaine rose. This was his first private 
interview with a professional sea-robber, and he did 
not know exactly how to demean himself ; but as his 
visitor’s manner was quiet, and as he came on board 
alone, it was not to be supposed that his intentions 
were offensive. 


265 


KATE BONNET 


“And you wish to see me, sir? ” said he. 

“Yes,” said Captain Ichabod ; “I thought I’d come 
over and talk to you. I don’t know you, bedad, but 
I know all about you, and I saw you and your family 
when you came to town to visit that old fox, bedad, 
that sugar -planter that Captain Blackbeard used to 
call Sir Nightcap. Not a bad joke, either, bedad ! I 
have heard of a good many dirty mean things that 
people in my line of business have done, but, bedad, 
I never did hear of any captain who was dirty and 
mean to his own family. Fine people, too, who came 
out to do the right thing by him, after he had been 
cleaned out, bedad, by one of his 1 brothers of the 
coast.’ A rare sort of brother, bedad, don’t you say 
so?” 

“You are right, sir,” said Master Delaplaine, “in 
what you say of the wild conduct of my brother-in- 
law Bonnet. It pleases me, sir, to know that you con- 
demn it.” 

“Condemn! I should say so, bedad,” answered 
Captain Ichabod ; “and I came over here to say to 
you— that is, just to mention, not knowing, of course, 
what you’d think about it, bedad— that I’m going to 
start on a cruise to-morrow ; that is, as soon as I can 
get in my water and some stores, bedad— water any- 
way. And if you and your ladies might happen to 
fancy it, bedad, I’d be glad to take you along. I’ve 
heard that you’re in a bad case here, the captain of 
this brig being unable or quite unwilling to take you 
where you want to go.” 

“But where are you going, sir?” in great surprise. 

“Anywhere,” said Captain Ichabod, “anywhere 
you’d like to go. I’m starting out on a cruise, and a 
266 


CAPTAIN ICHABOD 


cruise with me means anywhere. And my opinion 

is, sir, that if you want to come up with that crack- 
brained sugar-planter, you’d better follow Black- 
beard ; and the best place to find him will be on the 
Carolina coast 5 that’s his favorite hunting-ground, 
bedad, and I expect the sugar-planter is with him by 
this time.” 

“But will not that be dangerous, sir?” asked Mas- 
ter Delaplaine. 

“Oh, no,” said the other. “I know Blackbeard, 
and we have played many a game together. You 
and your family need not have anything to do with 

it. I’ll board the Revenge , and you may wager, 
bedad, that I’ll bring Sir Nightcap back to you by 
the ear.” 

“But there’s another,” said Delaplaine 5 “there’s a 
young man belonging to my party—” 

“Oh, yes, I know,” said the other ; “the young fel- 
low Blackbeard took away with him. Clapped a 
cocked hat on him, bedad ! That was a good joke ! 
I will bring him too. One old man, one young man 
—I’ll fetch ’em both. Then I’ll take you all where 
you want to go to— that is, as near as I can get to 
it, bedad. Now, you tell your ladies about this, and 
I’ll have my sloop cleaned up a bit, and as soon 
as I can get my water on board I’m ready to hoist 
anchor.” 

“But look you, sir ! ” exclaimed Master Delaplaine, 
“this is a very important matter, and cannot be de- 
cided so quickly.” 

“Oh, don’t mention it, don’t mention it,” said Cap- 
tain Ichabod 5 “just you tell your ladies all about it, 
and I’ll be ready to sail almost any time to-morrow.” 

267 


KATE BONNET 


“But, sir — 77 cried the merchant. 

“Very good / 7 said the pirate captain ; “you talk it 
over. I 7 m going to the town now, and I ? ll row out to 
you this afternoon and get your instructions . 77 

And with this he got over the side. 

Master Delaplaine said nothing of this visit, but 
waited on deck until the captain came on board, and 
then many were the questions he asked about the pi- 
rate Ichabod. 

“Well, well ! 77 the captain exclaimed, “that 7 s just 
like him ; he 7 s a rare one. Ichabod is not his name, 
of course, and I 7 m told he belongs to a good English 
family— a younger son, and having taken his inheri- 
tance, he invested it in a sloop and turned pirate. 
He has had some pretty good fortune, I hear, in that 
line, but it hasn 7 t profited him much, for he is a ter- 
rible gambler, and all that he makes by his prizes he 
loses at cards, so he is nearly always poor. Black- 
beard sometimes helps him, so I have heard— which 
he ought to do, for the old pirate has won bags of 
money from him $ but he is known as a good fellow, 
and to be trusted. I have heard of his sailing a long 
way back to Belize to pay a gambling debt he owed, 
he having captured a merchantman in the meantime . 77 

“Very honorable indeed , 77 remarked Master Dela- 
plaine. 

“As pirates go, a white crow , 77 said the other. 
“How, sir, if you and your ladies want to go to Black- 
beard,— and a rare desire is that, I swear !— you cannot 
do better than let Captain Ichabod take you. You 
will be safe, I am sure of that, and there is every rea- 
son to think he will find his man . 77 

When Master Delaplaine went below with his ex- 
268 


CAPTAIN ICHABOD 

traordinary news, Dame Charter turned pale and 
screamed. 

“Sail in a pirate ship?” she cried. “I’ve seen the 
men belonging to one of them, and as to going on 
board and sailing with them, I’d rather die just where 
I am.” 

To the good dame’s astonishment and that of Mas- 
ter Delaplaine, Kate spoke up very promptly : “But 
you cannot die here, Dame Charter j and if you ever 
want to see your son again you have got to go to him. 
Which is also the case with me and my father. And 
as there is no other way for us to go, I say, let us ac- 
cept this man’s offer, if he be what my uncle thinks 
he is. After all, it might be as safe for us on board 
his ship as to be on a merchantman and be captured 
by pirates, which would be likely enough in those re- 
gions where we are obliged to go ; and so I say let us 
see the man, and if he doesn’t frighten us too much 
let us sail with him and get my father and Dickory.” 

“It would be a terrible danger, a terrible danger,” 
said Master Delaplaine. 

“But, uncle,” urged Kate, “everything is a terrible 
danger in the search we’re upon ; let us, then, choose 
a danger that we know something about, and which 
may serve our needs, rather than one of which we’re 
ignorant and which cannot possibly be of any good to 
us.” 

It was actually the fact that the little party in the 
cabin had not finished talking over this most momen- 
tous subject before they were informed that Captain 
Ichabod was on deck. Up they went, Dame Charter 
ready to faint. But she did not do so. When she 
saw the visitor she thought it could not be the pirate 
269 


KATE BONNET 


captain, but some one whom he had sent in his place. 
He was more soberly dressed than when he first came 
on board, and his manners were even milder. The 
mind of Kate Bonnet was so worked up by the trouble 
that had come upon her that she felt very much as 
she did when she hung over the side of her father’s 
vessel at Bridgetown, ready to drop into the darkness 
and the water when the signal should sound. She 
had an object now, as she had had then, and again 
she must risk everything. On her second look at 
Captain Ichabod, which embarrassed him very much, 
she was ready to trust him. 

“Dame Charter,” she whispered, “we must do it or 
never see them again.” 

So, when they had talked about it for a quarter of 
an hour, it was agreed that they would sail with Cap- 
tain Ichabod. 

When the sloop Bestless made ready to sail the next 
day there was a fine flurry in the harbor. Nothing 
of the kind had ever before happened there. Two 
ladies and a most respectable old gentleman sailing 
away under the skull and cross-bones ! That was al- 
together new in the Caribbean Sea. To those who 
talked to him about his quixotic expedition, Captain 
Ichabod swore— and at times, as many men knew, he 
was a great hand at being in earnest— that if he car- 
ried not his passengers through their troubles and to 
a place of safety, the Bestless , and all on board of her, 
should mount to the skies in a thousand bits. Al- 
though this alternative would not have been very 
comforting to said passengers if they had known of it, 
it came from Captain Ichabod’s heart, and showed 
what sort of man he was. 

Old Captain Sorby came to the Bestless in a boat, and, 
270 


CAPTAIN ICHABOD 


having previously washed one hand, came on board 
and bade them all good-by with great earnestness. 

“You will catch him,” said he to Kate, “and my 
advice to you is, when you get him, hang him. That’s 
the only way to keep him out of mischief. But as 
you are his daughter, you may not like to string him 
up, so I say put irons on him. If you don’t he’ll be 
playin’ you some other wild trick. He is not fit for 
a pirate, anyway, and he ought to be taken back to 
his calves and his chickens.” 

Kate did not resent this language ; she even smiled, 
a little sadly. She had a great work before her, and 
she could not mind trifles. 

Hone of the other pirates came on board, for they 
were afraid of Sorby, and when that great man had 
made the round of the decks and had given Captain 
Ichabod some bits of advice, he got down into his 
boat. The anchor was weighed, the sails hoisted, 
and, amid shouts and cheers from a dozen small boats 
containing some of the most terrible and bloody sea- 
robbers who had ever infested the face of the waters, 
the Bestless sailed away : perhaps the only pirate ship 
which had ever left port followed by blessings and 
good will— good will, although the words which ex- 
pressed it were curses and the men who waved their 
hats were blasphemers and cutthroats. 

Away sailed our gentle and most respectable party, 
with the Jolly Roger floating boldly high above them. 
Kate, looking skyward, noticed this, and took courage 
to bewail the fact to Captain Ichabod. 

He smiled. “While we’re in sight of my brethren 
of the coast,” he said, “our skull and bones must 
wave ; but when we’re well out at sea we will run up 
an English flag, if it please you.” 

271 


CHAPTER XXX 


DAME CHARTER MAKES A FRIEND 

Captain Ichabod was in high feather. He whistled, 
he sang, and he kept his men cleaning things. All 
that he could do for the comfort of his passengers he 
did, even going so far as to drop as many of his “be- 
dads” as possible. Whenever he had an opportu- 
nity, and these came frequently, he talked to Master 
Delaplaine, addressing a word or two to Kate if he 
thought she looked gracious. For the first day or 
two Dame Charter kept below. She was afraid of the 
men, and did not even want to look at them, if she 
could help it. 

“But the good woman’s all wrong,” said Captain 
Ichabod to Master Delaplaine. “My men would not 
hurt her. They’re not the most tremendous kind of 
pirates, anyway, for I could not afford that sort. I 
have often thought that I could make more profitable 
voyages if I had a savager lot of men. I’ll tell you, 
sir, we once tried to board a big Spanish galleon, and 
the beastly foreigners beat us off, bedad, and we had 
a hard time of it getting away. There are three or 
four good fellows in the crew, tough old rascals who 
came with the sloop when I bought her ; but most of 
my men are but poor knaves, and not to be afraid of.” 

272 


DAME CHARTER MAKES A FRIEND 


This comfort Master Delaplaine kept to himself; 
and on the second day out, the food which was served 
to them being most wretchedly cooked, Dame Charter 
ventured into the galley to see if she could do any- 
thing in the way of improvement. 

“I think yon may eat this,’ 7 she said, when she re- 
turned to Kate, “but I don’t think that anything on 
board is fit for you. When I went to the kitchen, I 
came near dropping dead right in the doorway. That 
cook, Mistress Kate, is the most terrible creature of 
all the pirates that ever were born. His eyes are 
blistering green, and his beard is all twisted into 
points, with the ends stuck fast with blood which has 
never been washed off. He roars like a lion, with 
shining teeth ; but he speaks very fair, Mistress Kate— 
you would be amazed to hear how fair he speaks. He 
told me, and every word he said set my teeth on edge 
with its grating, that he wanted to know how I liked 
the meals cooked ; that he would do it right if there 
were things on board to do it with. Which there are 
not, Mistress Kate. And when he was beating up 
that batter for me, and I asked him if he was not tired 
working so hard, he pulled up his sleeve and showed 
me his arm, which was like a horse’s leg, all covered 
with hair, and asked me if I thought it was likely he 
could tear himself with a spoon. I’m sure he would 
give us better food if he could, for he leaned over and 
whispered to me, like a gust of wind coming in 
through the door, that the captain was in a very hard 
case, having lately lost everything he had at the gam- 
ing-table, and therefore had not the money to store 
the ship as he would have done.” 

“Oh, don’t talk about that, Dame Charter,” said 
273 


/ 


KATE BONNET 


Kate ; “if we can get enough to eat, no matter what 
it is, we must he satisfied, and think only of our great 
joy in sailing to my father and to your Dickory.” 

That afternoon Captain Ichabod found Kate by her- 
self on deck, and he made bold to sit down by her ; 
and before he knew what he was about he was telling 
her his whole story. She listened carefully to what 
he said. He touched but lightly upon his wicked- 
nesses, although they were plain enough to any lis- 
tener of sense, and bemoaned his fearful passion for 
gaming, which was sure to bring him to misery one 
day or another. 

“When I have staked my vessel and have lost it,” 
said he, “then there will be an end of me.” 

“But why don’t you sell your vessel before you lose 
it,” said Kate, “and become a farmer?” 

His eyes brightened. “I never thought of that,” 
said he. “Bedad,— excuse me, miss,— some day when 
I’ve got a little together and can pay my men I’ll sell 
this sloop and buy a farm, bedad,— I beg your pardon, 
miss,— I’ll buy a farm.” 

Kate smiled, but it was easy to see that Captain 
Ichabod was in earnest. 

The next day Captain Ichabod came to Master Dela- 
plaine and took him to one side. “I want to speak 
to you,” he said, “about a bit of business.” 

“You may have noticed, sir, that we are somewhat 
short of provisions, and the way of it is this. The 
night before we sailed, hoping to make a bold stroke 
at the card-table and thereby fit out my vessel in a 
manner suitable to the entertainment of a gentleman 
and ladies, I lost every penny I had. I did hope 
that our provisions would last us a few days longer, 
274 


DAME CHARTER MAKES A FRIEND 


but I am disappointed, sir. That cook of mine, who 
is a soft-hearted fellow, his neck always ready for the 
heel of a woman, has thrown overboard even the few 
stores we had left for you, the good Dame Charter 
having told him they were not fit to eat. And, more, 
sir, even my men are grumbling. So I thought I 
would speak to you and explain that it would be 
necessary for us to overhaul a merchantman and re- 
plenish our food-supply. It can be done very quietly, 
sir, and I don’t think that even the ladies need be 
disturbed.” 

Master Delaplaine stared in amazement. “Do you 
mean to say,” he exclaimed, “that you want me to 
consent to your committing piracy for our benefit 1 ” 

“Yes, sir,” answered the captain j “that’s what I 
suppose you would call it : but that’s my business.” 

“Now, sir, I wish you to know that I am a Chris- 
tian and a gentleman,” said Master Delaplaine. 

“That’s all very true, bedad,” said Captain Ichabod ; 
“but you’re also another thing : you’re a human being, 
and you must eat.” 

“This is terrible ! ” exclaimed the merchant— “that 
at my time of life I should consent to a felony at sea, 
and to profit by it. I cannot bear to think of the 
wickedness and the disgrace of it.” 

“Most respected sir,” said Ichabod, “if the fellows 
behave themselves properly and don’t offer to fight 
us, then there’ll be no wickedness, bedad. I can 
make a good enough show of men to frighten any 
ordinary merchant crew so that not a blow need be 
struck. And that is what I expect to do, sir. I would 
not have any disturbance before ladies — you may be 
sure of that, bedad. We bear down upon a vessel ; 

275 


KATE BONNET 


we order her to surrender 5 we take what we want, 
and we let her go. Truly there’s no wickedness in 
that! And as for the disgrace, we can all better 
bear that than starve.” 

Master Delaplaine looked at the pirate without a 
word. He could not comprehend how a man with 
such a frank and honest face could thus avow his dis- 
honest principles. But as he gazed and wondered the 
thought of a scheme flashed across the mind of the 
merchant, a thoroughly businesslike scheme. This 
bold young pirate captain might seize upon such 
supplies as they were in need of, but he, Felix Dela- 
plaine of Spanish Town, Jamaica, would pay for them. 
Thus might their necessities be relieved and their 
consciences kept clean. But he said nothing of this 
to Ichabod j the pirate might deem such a proceeding 
unprofessional and interpose some objection. Pay- 
ment would be the merchant’s part of the business, 
and he would attend to it himself. A look of resig- 
nation now came over Master Delaplaine’s face. 

u Captain,” said he, “I must yield to your reason 5 
it is absolutely necessary that we shall not starve.” 

Ichabod’s face shone and he held out his hand. 
“Bedad, sir,” he cried, “I honor you as a bold gentle- 
man and a kind one. I will instantly lay my course 
somewhat to the eastward, and I promise you, sir, it 
will not be long before we run across some of these 
merchant fellows. I beg you, sir, speak to your ladies 
and tell them that there will be no unpleasant com- 
motion ; we may draw our swords and make a fierce 
show, but, bedad, I don’t believe there’ll be any 
fighting. We shall want so little— for I would not 
attempt to take a regular prize with ladies on board 
276 


DAME CHARTER MAKES A FRIEND 


—that the fellows will surely deliver what we de- 
mand, the quicker to make an end of it.” 

“If you are perfectly sure,” said Master Delaplaine, 
“that you can restrain your men from violence, I 
would like to be a member of your boarding party $ 
it would be a rare experience for me.” 

How Captain Ichabod fairly shouted with delight. 

“Bravo ! Bravo ! ” he exclaimed. “I didn’t dream, 
sir, that you were a man of such a noble spirit. You 
shall go with us, sir. Your presence will aid greatly 
in making our hoped-for capture a most orderly 
affair $ no one can look upon you, bedad, without 
knowing that you are a high-minded and honorable 
man, and would not take a box or case from any one 
if you did not need it. How, sir, we shall put about, 
and by good fortune we may soon sight a merchant- 
man. Even if it be but a coastwise trader, it may 
serve our purpose.” 

Master Delaplaine, with something of a smile upon 
his sedate face, hurried to Kate, who was upon the 
quarter-deck. 

“My dear, we are about to introduce a little variety 
into our dull lives. As soon as we can overhaul a 
merchantman we shall commit a piracy. But don’t 
turn pale ; I have arranged it all.” 

“ You ! ” exclaimed the wide-eyed Kate. 

“Yes,” said her uncle, and he told his tale. 

“And remember this, my dear,” he added ; “if we 
cannot pay, we do not eat. I shall be as relentless as 
the bloody Blackbeard 5 if they take not my money, I 
shall swear to Ichabod that we touch not their goods.” 

“And are you sure,” she said, “that there will be 
no bloodshed ? ” 


277 


KATE BONNET 


“I vouch for that/’ said he, “for I shall lead the 
boarding party.” 

She took him by both hands. “Why,” she said, “it 
need be no more than laying in goods from a store- 
house • and I cannot but be glad, dear uncle, for I am 
so very, very hungry.” 

Now Dame Charter came running and puffing. 
“Do you know,” she cried, “that there is to be a 
piracy? The word has just been passed and the cook 
told me. There is to be no bloodshed, and the other 
ship will not be burned and the people will not be 
made to walk a plank. The captain has given those 
orders, and he is very firm, swearing, I am told, much 
more than is his wont. It is dreadful, it is awful just 
to think about j but the provisions are gone, and it is 
absolutely necessary to do something, and it will really 
be very exciting. The cook tells me he will put me 
in a good place where I cannot be hurt and where I 
shall see everything. And, Mistress Kate and Master 
Delaplaine, I dare say he can take care of you too.” 

Kate looked at lier uncle as if to ask if she might 
tell the good woman what sort of a piracy this was to 
be, but he shook his head. It would not do to inter- 
fere any more than was necessary with the regular 
progress of events. The captain came up, excited. 
“Even now, bedad,” he cried, “there are two sails in 
sight— one far north, and the other to the eastward, 
beating up this way. This one we shall make for. 
We have the wind with us, which is a good thing, for 
the Bestless is a bad sailer and has lost many a prize 
through that fault. And now, miss,” he said, ad- 
dressing Kate, “I shall ha ve to ask your leave to take 
down that English flag and run up our Jolly Roger. 

2tS 


DAME CHARTER MAKES A FRIEND 


It will be necessary, for if the fellows fear not our 
long guns, they may change their course and get away 
from us.” 

“That will be right,” said Kate ; “if we’re going to 
be pirates, we might as well be pirates out and out.” 

Captain Ichabod glowed with delight. What a 
girl this was, and what an uncle ! 

It was not long — for the Bestless had a fair wind — 
before the sail to the eastward came fully into sight. 
She was, in good truth, a merchantman, and not a 
large one. Dame Charter, very much excited, won- 
dered what she would have on board. 

“The cook tells me,” said she to Kate, “that some- 
times ships from the other side of the ocean carry the 
most astonishing and beautiful things.” 

“But we shall not see these things,” said Kate, 
“even if that ship carries them. We shall take but 
food, and shall not unnecessarily despoil them of that. 
We may be pirates, but we shall not be wicked.” 

“It is hard to see the difference,” said Dame Char- 
ter, with a sigh ; “but we must eat. The cook tells 
me that they have made peaceful prizes before now. 
This they do when they want some particular thing, 
such as food or money, and care not for the trouble 
of stripping the ship, putting all on board to death, 
and then setting her on fire. The cook never does 
any boarding himself, so he says, but he stands on the 
deck here, armed with his great axe, which likes him 
better than a cutlass, and no matter what happens, 
he defends his kitchen.” 

“From his looks,” said Kate, “I should imagine 
him to be the fiercest fighter among them all.” 

“But that is not so,” said Dame Charter 5 “he tells 
279 


KATE BONNET 


me that he is of a very peaceable mind and would 
never engage in any broils or fights if he could help 
it. Look! look!” she cried, “ they 7 re running out 
their long brass guns ; and do you see that other ship, 
how her sails are fluttering in the wind? And there, 
that little spot at the top of her mast $ that’s her flag, 
and it is coming down ! Down, down it comes, and I 
must run to the cook and ask him what will happen 
next.” 


280 


CHAPTER XXXI 


MASTER DELAPLAINE IN A BOARDING PARTY 

Steadily southward sailed the brig Black Swan , which 
bore upon its decks the happy Mander family and our 
poor friend Dickory, carrying with him his lifelong 
destiny in the shape of the blood-stained letter from 
Captain Vince. 

The sackcloth draperies of Lucilla, with the red 
cord lightly tied about them, had given place to a 
very ordinary gown fashioned by her mother and her- 
self, which added so few charms to her young face and 
sparkling eyes that Dickory often thought that he 
wished there were some bushes on deck so that she 
might stand behind them and let him see only her 
face, as he had seen it when first he met her. But he 
saw the pretty face a great deal, for Lucilla was very 
anxious to know things, and asked many questions 
about Barbados, and also asked if there was any 
probability that the brig would go straight on to that 
lovely island without bothering to stop at Jamaica. 
It was during such talks as this that Dickory forgot, 
when he did forget, the blood-stained letter that he 
carried with him always. 

Our young friend still wore the naval uniform, al- 
though in coming on the brig he had changed it for 
281 


KATE BONNET 


some rough sailor’s clothes. But Lucilla had besought 
him to be again a brave lieutenant. 

They sailed and they sailed, and there was but little 
wind, and that from the south and against them. But 
Lucilla did not complain at their slow progress. The 
slowest vessel in the world was preferable just now to 
a desert island which never moved. 

Davids was at the wheel, and Mander stood near 
him. These old friends had not yet finished talking 
about what had happened in the days since they had 
seen each other. Mrs. Mander sat not far away, still 
making clothes, and the little Lena was helping her 
in her childlike way. Lucilla and Dickory were still 
talking about Barbados. There never was a girl who 
wanted to know so much about an island as that girl 
wanted to know about Barbados. 

Suddenly there was a shout from above. 

“ What’s that?” asked Mander. 

“ A sail,” said Davids, peering out over the sea, but 
able to see nothing. Lucilla and Dickory did not 
cease talking. At that moment Lucilla did not care 
greatly about sails, there was so much to be said about 
Barbados. 

There was a good deal of talking forward, and after 
a while the captain walked to the quarter-deck. He 
was a gruff man, and his face was troubled. 

“I am sorry to say,” he growled, “that the ship we 
have sighted is a pirate ; she flies the black flag.” 

How there was no more talk about Barbados, or 
what had happened to old friends, and the sewing 
dropped on the deck. Those poor Manders were 
chilled to the soul. Were they again to be taken by 
pirates f 


282 


DELAPLAINE IN A BOARDING PARTY 


“Captain,” cried Mander, “what can we do? Can we 
run away from them ? ” 

“We could not run away from their guns,” growled 
the captain, “and there is nothing to do. They in- 
tend to take this brig, and that’s the reason they have 
run up their skull and bones. They are bearing 
directly down upon us with a fair wind ; they will be 
firing a gun presently, and then I shall lay to and 
wait for them.” 

Mander stepped toward Dickory and Lucilla ; his 
voice was husky as he said : “We cannot expect, my 
dear, that we shall again be captured by forbearing 
pirates. I shall kill my wife and little daughter 
rather than they shall fall into the bloody hands of 
ordinary pirates ; and to you, sir, I will commit the 
care of my Lucilla. If this vessel is delivered over to 
a horde of savages, I pray you, plunge your dirk into 
her heart.” 

“Yes,” said Lucilla, clinging to the arm of Dickory ; 
“if those fierce pirates shall attack us, we will die 
together.” 

Dickory shook his head. In an awful moment such 
as this he could hold out no illusions. “No,” said he ; 
“I cannot die with you. I have a duty before me, and 
until it is accomplished I cannot willingly give up 
my life. I must rather be even a pirate’s slave than 
that. But I will accept your father’s charge ; should 
there be need, I will kill you.” 

“Thank you very much,” said Lucilla, coolly. 

To the surprise of the people on the Black Swan , 
there came no shot from the approaching pirate ; but 
as she still bore down upon them, running before the 
wind, the captain of the brig lay to and lowered his 
283 


KATE BONNET 


flag. Submission now was all there was before them. 
No man on the brig took up arms, nor did the crew 
form themselves into any show of resistance ; that 
would have but made matters worse. 

As the pirate vessel came on nearer and nearer, a 
great number of men could be seen stretched along 
her deck, and some brass cannon were visible trained 
upon the unfortunate brig. 

But, to the surprise of the captain of the Black 
Swan , and of nearly everybody on board of her, the 
pirate did not run down upon her to make fast and 
board. Instead of that, she put about into the wind 
and lay to less than a quarter of a mile away. Then 
two boats were lowered and filled with men, who 
rowed toward the brig. 

“They have special reasons for our capture,” said 
the captain to those who were crowding about him j 
“he may be well laden now with plunder, and comes 
to us for our gold and silver. Or it may be that he 
merely wants the brig. If that be so, he can quickly 
rid himself of us.” 

That was a cruel speech when women had to hear 
it, but the captain was a rough fellow. 

The boats came on as quietly as if they were about 
to land at a neighboring pier. Dickory and Lucilla 
cautiously peeped over the rail, Dickory without his 
hat, and Lucilla hiding herself, all but a part of her 
face, behind him ; the Manders crouched together on 
the deck, the father with glaring eyes and a knife in 
his hand. The crew stood, with their hats removed 
and their chins lowered, waiting for what might hap- 
pen next. 

Up to this time Dickory had shown no signs of fear, 
284 


DELAPLAINE IN A BOARDING PARTY 


although his mind was terribly tossed and disturbed ; 
for, whatever might happen to him, it possibly would 
be the end of that mission which was now the only 
object of his life. But he grated his teeth together 
and awaited his fate. 

But now, as the boats came nearer, he began to 
tremble, and gradually his knees shook under him. 

“I would not have believed that he was such a 
coward as that,” thought Lucilla. 

The boats neared the ship, and were soon made fast j 
every help was offered by the crew of the brig, and 
not a sign of resistance was shown. The leader of the 
pirates mounted to the deck, followed by the greater 
part of his men. 

For a moment Captain Ichabod glanced about him, 
and then, addressing the captain of the brig, he said : 
“This is all very well. I am glad to see that you 
have sense enough to take things as you find them, 
and not to stir up a fracas and make trouble. I over- 
hauled you that I might lay in a stock of provisions, 
and some wine and spirits besides, having no desire, 
if you treat us rightly, to despoil you further. So we 
shall have no more words about it, bedad, and if you 
will set your men to work to get on deck such stores 
as my quartermaster here may demand of you, we 
shall get through this business quickly. In the mean- 
time, lower two or three boats, so that your men can 
row the goods over to my vessel.” 

The captain of the Black Swan simply bowed his 
head and turned away to obey orders, while Captain 
Ichabod stepped a little aft and began to survey the 
captured vessel. As soon as his back was turned, the 
captain of the brig was approached by a very re- 
285 


KATE BONNET 


spectable elderly gentleman, apparently not engaged 
either in the mercantile marine or in piratical pur- 
suits, who stopped him and said : “Sir, my name is 
Felix Delaplaine, merchant, of Spanish Town, Ja- 
maica. I am, against my will, engaged in this pirati- 
cal attack upon your vessel, but I wish to assure 
you privately that I will not consent to have you 
robbed of your property, and that, although some of 
your provisions may be taken by these pirates, I here 
promise, as an honorable gentleman, to pay you the 
full value of all that they seize upon.” 

The captain of the Black Swan had no opportunity 
to make an answer to this most extraordinary state- 
ment, for at that moment a naval officer, shouting at 
the top of his voice, came rushing toward the respect- 
able gentleman who had just been making such honor- 
able proposals. Almost at the same moment there 
was a great shout from Captain Ichabod, who, draw- 
ing his cutlass from its sheath, raised the glittering 
blade and dashed in pursuit of the naval gentleman. 

“Hold, there ! Hold, there ! ” cried the pirate. 
“Don’t you touch him ; don’t you lay your hand upon 
him ! ” 

But Ichabod was not quick enough. Dickory, swift 
as a stag, stretched out both his arms and threw them 
around the neck of the amazed Master Delaplaine. 

Now the pirate Ichabod reached the two ; his great 
sword went high in air, and was about to descend 
upon the naval person, whoever he was, who had made 
such an unprovoked attack upon his honored pas- 
senger, when his arm was caught by some one from 
behind. Turning, with a great curse, his eyes fell 
upon the face of a young girl. 

“Oh, don’t kill him ! Don’t kill him ! ” she cried. 

286 


DELAPLAINE IN A BOARDING PARTY 


“He will hurt nobody $ be is only bugging tbe old 
gentleman.” 

Captain Icbabod looked from tbe girl to tbe two 
men, wbo were actually embracing eacb other. Dick- 
ory’s back was toward him, but tbe face of Master 
Delaplaine fairly glowed with delight. 

“Oho ! ” said Icbabod, turning to Lucilla, “and what 
does this mean, bedad? ” 

“I don’t know,” she answered, “but tbe gentleman 
in tbe uniform is a good man. Perhaps tbe other 
one is bis father.” 

“To my eyes,” said Captain Icbabod, “this is a most 
fearsome mix.” 

Tbe Mander family, and nearly everybody else on 
board, crowded about tbe little group, gazing with all 
their eyes, but asking no questions. 

“Captain Icbabod,” exclaimed Master Delaplaine, 
bolding Dickory by tbe band, “this is one of tbe two 
persons you were taking us to find. This is Dickory 
Charter, tbe son of good Dame Charter, now on your 
vessel. He went away with Blackbeard, and we were 
in search of him.” 

“Oho !” cried Captain Icbabod, “by my life I be- 
lieve it. That’s tbe young fellow that Blackbeard 
dressed up in a cocked bat and took away with him.” 

“I am tbe same person, sir,” said Dickory. 

“So far, so good,” said Captain Icbabod. “I am 
very glad that I did not bring down my cutlass on 
you, which I should have done, bedad, bad it not been 
for this young woman.” 

Now up spoke Master Delaplaine. “We have found 
you, Dickory,” be cried, “but what can you tell us of 
Major Bonnet?” 

“Ay, ay,” added Captain Icbabod ,• “there’s another 
287 


KATE BONNET 

one we’re after; where’s the runaway Sir Night- 
cap t ” 

“Alas ! ” said Dickory, “I do not know. I escaped 
from Blackbeard, and since that day have heard 
nothing. I had supposed that Captain Bonnet was 
in your company, Master Delaplaine.” 

Now the captain of the Black Swan pushed himself 
forward. “Is it Captain Bonnet, lately of the pirate 
ship Revenge, that you’re talking about?” he asked. 
“If so, I may tell you something of him. I am lately 
from Charles Town, and the talk there was that Black- 
beard was lying outside the harbor in Stede Bonnet’s 
old vessel, and that Bonnet had lately joined him. I 
did not venture out of port until I had had certain 
news that these pirates had sailed northward. They 
had two or three ships, and the talk was that they 
were bound to the Virginias, and perhaps still farther 
north. They were fitted out for a long cruise.” 

“Gone again ! ” exclaimed Master Delaplaine in a 
hoarse voice. “Gone again ! ” 

Captain Ichabod’s face grew clouded. 

“Gone north of Charles Town ! ” he exclaimed. 
“That’s bad, bedad, that’s very bad. You are sure he 
did not sail southward ? ” he asked of the captain of 
the brig. 

That gruff mariner was in a strange state of mind. 
He had just been captured by a pirate, and in the 
next moment had made what might be a very profit- 
able sale, to a respectable merchant, of the goods the 
pirate was about to take from him. Moreover, the 
said pirate seemed to be in the employ of said mer- 
chant, and altogether things seemed to him to be in 
as fearsome a mix as they had seemed to Captain 
288 


DELAPLAINE IN A BOARDING PARTY 


Icliabod ; but be brought his mind down to the ques- 
tion he had been asked. 

“No doubt about that,” said he ; “there were some 
of his men in the town,— for they are afraid of nobody, 
— and they were not backward in talking.” 

“That upsets things badly,” said Captain Ichabod, 
without unclouding his brow. “With my slow vessel 
and my empty purse, bedad, I don’t see how I am 
ever going to catch Blackbeard if he has gone north. 
Finding Blackbeard would have been a handful of 
trumps to me, but the game seems to be up, bedad.” 

The captain of the brig and Ichabod’s quartermas- 
ter went away to attend to the transfer of the needed 
goods to the J Restless. Mander, with his wife and little 
daughter, were standing together gazing with amaze- 
ment at the strange pirates who had come aboard, 
while Lucilla stepped up to Dickory, who stood si- 
lent, with his eyes on the deck. 

“Can you tell me what this means'? ” said she. 

For a moment he did not answer, and then he said : 
“I don’t know everything myself, but I must pres- 
ently go on board that vessel.” 

“What!” exclaimed Lucilla, stepping back. “Is 
she there ? ” 

“Yes,” said Dickory. 


289 


CHAPTER XXXII 


THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER 

The sea was smooth and the wind light, and the 
transfer of provisions from the Black Swan to the pi- 
rate sloop, which two ships now lay as near each 
other as safety would permit, was accomplished 
quietly. 

During the progress of the transfer Captain Icha- 
bod’s boat was rowed back to his ship, and its arrival 
was watched with great interest by everybody on 
board that pirate sloop. Kate and Dame Charter, as 
well as all the men who stood looking over the rail, 
were amazed to see a naval officer accompanying the 
captain and Master Delaplaine on their return. But 
that amazement was greatly increased when that offi- 
cer, as soon as he set foot upon the deck, removed his 
hat and made directly for Dame Charter, who, with 
a scream loud enough to frighten the fishes, enfolded 
him in her arms and straightway fainted. It was like 
a son coming up out of the sea, sure enough, as she 
afterwards stated. Kate, recognizing Dickory, hur- 
ried to him with a scream of her own and both hands 
outstretched; but the young fellow, who seemed 
greatly distressed at the unconscious condition of his 
mother, did not greet Mistress Bonnet with the en- 
290 


THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER 


thusiastic delight which might have been expected 
under the circumstances. He seemed troubled and 
embarrassed, which, perhaps, was not surprising, for 
never before had he seen his mother faint. 

Kate was about to offer some assistance, but as the 
good dame now showed signs of returning conscious- 
ness, she thought it would be better to leave the two 
together, and in a state of amazement she was hurry- 
ing to her uncle when Dickory rose from the side of 
his mother and stopped her. 

“I have a letter for you,” he said in a husky voice. 

“A letter?” she cried. “From my father?” 

“Ho,” said he; “from Captain Vince.” And he 
handed her the blood-stained missive. 

Kate turned pale and stared at him ; here was hor- 
rible mystery. The thought flashed through the 
young girl’s mind that the wicked captain had killed 
her father and had written to tell her so. 

“Is my father dead?” she gasped. 

“Hot that I know of,” said Dickory. 

“Where is he?” she cried. 

“I do not know,” was the answer. 

She stood holding the letter, while Dickory re- 
turned to his mother. Master Delaplaine saw her 
standing thus, pale and shocked, but he did not has- 
ten to her. He had sad things to say to her, for his 
practical mind told him that it would not be possible 
to continue the search for her father, he having put 
himself out of the reach of Captain Ichabod and his 
inefficient sloop. If Dickory had said anything about 
her father which had so cast her down, how much 
harder would it be for him when he had to tell her 
the whole truth ! 


291 


KATE BONNET 


But Kate did not wait for further speech from any- 
body. She gave a great start, and then rushed down 
the companionway to her cabin. There, with her 
door shut, she opened the letter. This was the letter, 
written in lead-pencil, in an irregular but bold hand, 
with some letters partly dimmed where the paper had 
been damp : 

At the very end of my life I write to you that you 
have escaped the fiercest love that ever a man had for 
a woman. I shall carry this love with me to hell, if it 
may be, but you have escaped it. This escape is a bless- 
ing, and now that I cannot help it I give it to you. 
Had I lived, I should have shed the blood of every one 
whom you loved to gain you and you would have cursed 
me. So love me now for dying. 

Yours, anywhere and always, 

Christopher Vince. 

Kate put down the letter, and some color came into 
her face ; she bowed her head in thankful prayer. 

“He is dead,’ 7 she said, “and now he cannot harm 
my father.” That was the only thought she had re- 
garding this hot-brained and infatuated lover. He 
was dead ; her father was safe from him. How he 
died, how Dickory came to bring the letter, how any- 
thing had happened that had happened except the 
death of Captain Vince, did not at this moment con- 
cern her. Not until now had she known how the fear 
of the vengeful captain of the Badger had constantly 
been with her. 

Over and over again Dickory told his tale to his 
mother. She interrupted him so much with her em- 
braces that he could not explain things clearly to her ; 

292 


THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER 


but she did not care— she had him with her. He was 
with her, and she had fast hold of him, and she would 
never let him go again. What mattered it what sort 
of clothes he wore, or where he had escaped from— a 
family on a desert island or from a pirate crew? She 
had him, and her happiness knew no bounds. Dick- 
ory was perfectly willing to stay with her and to talk 
to her. He did not care to be with anybody else, not 
even with Mistress Kate, who had taken so much in- 
terest in him all the time he had been away ; though, 
of course, not so much interest as his own dear 
mother. 

Then the good Dame Charter, being greatly recov- 
ered and so happy, began to talk of herself. Slipping 
in a disjointed way over her various experiences, she 
told her dear boy, in strictest confidence, that she was 
very much disappointed in the way pirates took ships. 
She thought it was going to be something very excit- 
ing that she would remember to the end of her days, 
and wake up in the middle of the night and scream 
when she thought of it 5 but it was nothing of the 
kind : not a shot was fired, not a drop of blood shed ; 
there was not even a shout or a yell or a scream for 
mercy. It was all like going into the pantry to get 
the flour and the sugar. She was all the time waiting 
for something to happen, and nothing ever did. Dick- 
ory smiled, but it was like watered milk. 

“I do not understand such piracy,” he said ; “but 
suppose, dear mother, that these pirates had taken 
that ship in the usual way, I being on board f ” 

At this he was clasped so tightly to his mother’s 
breast that he could say no more. 

The boats plied steadily between the two vessels, 
293 


KATE BONNET 


and on one of the trips Master Delaplaine went over 
to the brig on business, and also glad to escape for a 
little the dreaded interview which must soon come 
between himself and his niece. 

“Now, sir,” said the merchant to the captain of the 
brig, “you will make a bill against me for the provi- 
sions which are being taken to that pirate, but I hope 
you have reserved a sufficient store of food for your 
own maintenance until you reach a port, and that of 
myself and two women who wish to sail with you, 
craving most earnestly that you will land us in Ja- 
maica or in some place convenient of access to that 
island.” 

“Which I can do,” said the captain, “for I am 
bound to Kingston, and as to subsistence, shall have 
plenty.” 

On the brig Master Delaplaine found Captain Icha- 
bod, who had come over to superintend operations, 
and who was now talking to the pretty girl who had 
seized him by the arm when he was about to slay the 
naval officer. 

“I would talk with you, captain,” said the mer- 
chant, “on a matter of immediate import.” And he 
led the pirate away from the pretty girl. 

The matter to be discussed was, indeed, of deep 
import. 

“I am loath to say it, sir,” said Master Delaplaine, 
“when I think of the hospitality and most excep- 
tional kindness with which you have treated me and 
my niece, and for which we shall feel grateful all our 
lives, but I think you will agree with me that it 
would be useless for us to pursue the search after that 
most reprehensible person, my brother-in-law Bon- 
294 


THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER 


net. There can be no doubt, I believe, that he and 
Blackbeard have left the vicinity of Charles Town, 
and have gone we know not where.” 

“No doubt of that, bedad,” said Ichabod, knitting 
his brows as he spoke ; “if Blackbeard had been out- 
side the harbor, this brig would not have been here.” 

“And therefore, sir,” continued Master Delaplaine, 
“I have judged it to be wise, and indeed necessary, 
for us to part company with you, sir, and to take pas- 
sage on this brig, which, by a most fortunate chance, 
is bound for Kingston. My niece, I know, will be 
greatly disappointed by this course of events, but we 
have no choice but to fall in with them.” 

“I don’t like to agree with you,” said the captain, 
“but, bedad, I am bound to do it. I am disappointed 
myself, sir, but I have been disappointed so often that 
I suppose I ought to be used to it. If I had caught 
up with Blackbeard I should have been all right, and 
after I had settled your affairs— and I know I could 
have done that— I think I would have joined him. 
But all I can do now is to hammer along at the 
business, take prizes in the usual way, and wait for 
Blackbeard to come south again, and then I’ll either 
sell out or join him.” 

“It is a great pity, sir,” said Master Delaplaine, “a 
great pity—” 

“Yes, it is,” interrupted Ichabod j “it’s a very great 
pity, sir, a very great pity. If I had known more 
about ships when I bought the Bestless I would have 
had a faster craft, and by this time I might have been 
a man of comfortable means. But that sloop over 
there, bedad, is so slow that many a time, sir, I have 
seen a fat merchantman sail away from her and leave 
295 


KATE BONNET 


us, in spite of our guns, cursing and swearing, miles 
behind. I am sorry to have you leave me, sir, and 
with your ladies $ but, as you say, here’s your chance 
to get home, and I don’t know when I could give you 
another.” 

Master Delaplaine replied courteously and grate- 
fully, and by the next boat he went back to the Rest- 
less. Captain Ichabod, his brow still clouded by the 
approaching separation, walked over to Lucilla and 
continued his conversation with her about the island 
of Barbados, a subject of which he knew very little 
and she nothing. 

When Kate returned to the deck she found Dick- 
ory alone, Dame Charter having gone to talk to the 
cook about the wonderful things which had happened, 
of which she knew very little and he nothing at all. 

“Dickory,” said Kate, “I want to talk to you, and 
that quickly. I have heard nothing of what has hap- 
pened to you. How did you get possession of the 
letter you brought me, and what do you know of Cap- 
tain Vince?” 

“I can tell you nothing,” he said, without looking 
at her, “ until you tell me what I ought to know 
about Captain Vince.” And as he said this he could 
not help wondering in his heart that there were no 
signs of grief about her. 

“ Ought to know?” she repeated, regarding him 
earnestly. “Well, you and I have been always good 
friends, and I will tell you.” And then she told him 
the story of the captain of the Badger ; of his love- 
making, and of his commission to sail upon the sea 
and destroy the pirate ship Revenge , and all on board 
of her. 


296 


THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER 


“And now,” she said, as she concluded, “I think it 
would be well for you to read this letter.” And she 
handed him the missive he had carried so long and 
with such pain. He read the bold, uneven lines, and 
then he turned and looked upon her, his face shining 
like the morning sky. 

“Then you have never loved him?” he gasped. 

“Why should I?” said Kate. 

In spite of the fact that there were a great many 
people on board that pirate sloop who might see him, 
in spite of the fact that there were people in boats 
plying upon the water who might notice his actions, 
Dickory fell upon his knees before Kate, and seizing 
her hand, he pressed it to his lips. 

“Why should If” said Kate, quietly drawing her 
hand from him, “for I have a devoted lover already 
—Master Martin Kewcombe of Barbados.” 

Dickory, repulsed, rose to his feet, but his face did 
not lose its glow. He had heard so much about Mar- 
tin Newcombe that he had ceased to mind him. 

“To think of it ! ” he cried. “To think how I stood 
and watched him fight $ how I admired and marvelled 
at his wonderful strength and skill, his fine figure, and 
his flashing eye ; how my soul went out to him ; how 
I longed that he might kill that scoundrel Black- 
beard ! And all the time he was your enemy, he was 
my enemy, he was a viler wretch than even the bloody 
pirate who killed him. Oh, Kate, Kate, if I had 
but known ! ” 

“Miss Kate, if you please,” said the girl. “And it 
is well, Dickory, you did not know, for then you 
might have jumped upon him and stuck him in the 
back, and that would have been dishonorable.” 

297 


KATE BONNET 


“He though t , 77 said Dickory, not in the least 
abashed by his reproof, “that the Revenge was com- 
manded by your father ; for he sprang upon the deck 
shouting for the captain, and when he saw Blackbeard 
I heard him exclaim in surprise, ‘ A sugar-planter ! 7 77 

“And he would have killed my father? 77 said Kate, 
turning pale at the thought. 

“Yes / 7 replied Dickory ; “he would have killed any 
man except the great Blackbeard. And to think of 
it ! I stood there watching them, and wishing that 
vile Englishman the victory. Oh, Kate ! you should 
have seen that wonderful pirate fight. No man could 
have stood before him . 77 Then, with sparkling eyes 
and waving arms, he told her of the combat. When 
he had finished, the souls of these two young people 
were united in an overpowering admiration, almost 
reverence, for the prowess and strength of the wicked 
and bloody pirate who had slain the captain of the 
Badger. 

When Master Delaplaine came on board, Kate, who 
had been waiting, took him aside. 

“Uncle , 77 she exclaimed, “I have great news. Cap- 
tain Vince is dead. At last he came up with the Re- 
venge, but instead of finding my father in command 
he found Blackbeard, who killed him. Now my fa- 
ther is safe ! 77 

The good man scarcely knew what to say to this 
bright-faced girl, whose fathers safety was all the 
world to her. If he had heard that his worthless and 
wicked brother-in-law had been killed, it would have 
been trouble and sorrow for the present, but it would 
have been peace for the future. But he was a Chris- 
tian gentleman and a loving uncle, and he banished 
298 


THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER 


this thought from his heart. He listened to Kate as 
she rapidly went on talking, hut he did not hear her ; 
his mind was busy with the news he had to tell her— 
the news that she must give up her loving search and 
go back with him to Spanish Town. 

“And now, uncle/ 7 said Kate, “there’s another 
thing I want to say to you. Since this great grief 
has been lifted from my soul, since I know that no 
wrathful and vindictive captain of a man-of-war is 
scouring the seas, armed with authority to kill my 
father, and savage for his life, I feel that it is not 
right for me to put other people who are so good to 
me to sad discomfort and great expense to try to fol- 
low my father into regions far away and to us almost 
unknown. 

“Some day he will come back into this part of the 
world, and I hope he may return disheartened and 
weary of his present mode of life, and then I may 
have a better chance of winning him back to the do- 
mestic life he used to love so much. But he is safe, 
uncle, and that is everything now, and so I came to 
say to you that I think it would be well for us to re- 
lieve this kind Captain Ichabod from the charges and 
labors he has taken upon himself for our sakes, and, if 
it be possible, engage that ship yonder to take us 
back to Jamaica ; she was sailing in that direction, 
and her captain might be induced to touch at King- 
ston. This is what I have been thinking about, dear 
uncle, and do you not agree with me!” 

High rose the spirits of the good Master Delaplaine j 
banished was all the overhanging blackness of his 
dreaded interview with Kate. The sky was bright, 
her soul was singing songs of joy and thankfulness, 
299 


KATE BONNET 


and his soul might join her. He never appreciated 
better than now the blessings which might be shed 
upon humanity by the death of a bad man. His mind 
even gambolled a little in his relief. 

“But, Kate,’ 7 he said, “if we leave that kind Cap- 
tain Ichabod, and he be not restrained by our pres- 
ence, then, my dear, he will return to his former evil 
ways, and his next captures will not be like this one, 
but like ordinary piracies, sinful in every way.” 

“Uncle,” said Kate, looking up into his face, “it is 
too much to ask of one young girl to undertake the 
responsibilities of two pirates ; I hope some day to be 
of benefit to my poor father, but when it comes to 
Captain Ichabod, kind as he has been, I am afraid I 
will have to let him go and manage the affairs of his 
soul for himself.” 

Her uncle smiled upon her. How that he was to 
go back to his home and take this dear girl with him, 
he was ready to smile at almost anything. That he 
thought one pirate much better worth saving than 
the other, and that his choice did not agree with that 
of his niece, was not for him even to think about at 
such a happy moment. It was not long after this 
conversation that the largest boat belonging to the 
Bestless was rowed over to the brig, and in it sat, not 
only Kate, Dame Charter, and Dickory, but Captain 
Ichabod, who would accompany his guests to take 
proper leave of them. The crew of the pirate sloop 
crowded themselves along her sides, and even mounted 
into her shrouds, waving their hats and shouting as 
the boat moved away. The cook was the loudest 
shouter, and his ragged hat waved highest. And as 
Dame Charter shook her handkerchief above her head 
300 


THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER 


and gazed back at her savage friend, there was a 
moisture in her eyes. Up to this moment she never 
would have believed that she would have grieved to 
depart from a pirate vessel and to leave behind a pi- 
rate cook. 

Lucilla watched carefully the newcomers as they 
ascended to the deck of the Black Swan. “That is the 
girl,” she said to herself, “and I am not surprised.” 

A little later she remarked to Captain Ichabod, 
who sat by her : “Are they mother and daughter, 
those two ? ” 

“Oh, no,” said he. “Mistress Bonnet is too fine a 
lady and too beautiful to be daughter to that old 
woman, who is her attendant and the mother of the 
young fellow in the cocked hat.” 

“Too fine and beautiful !” repeated Lucilla. 

“I greatly grieve to leave you all,” continued the 
young pirate captain, “although some of you I have 
known so short a time. It will be very lonely when 
I sail away with none to speak to save the bloody 
dogs I command, who may yet throttle me. And it 
is to Barbados you go to settle with your family? ” 

“That is our destination,” said Lucilla, “but I know 
not if we shall find the money to settle there; we 
were taken by pirates and lost everything.” 

Now the captain of the brig came up to Ichabod 
and informed him that the goods he demanded had 
been delivered on board his vessel, and that the brig 
was ready to sail. It was the time for leave-taking, 
but Ichabod was tardy. Presently he approached 
Kate, and drew her to one side. 

“Dear lady,” he said, and his voice was hesitating, 
while a slight flush of embarrassment appeared on his 
301 


KATE BONNET 


face, “you may have thought, dear lady,” he repeated, 
“you may have thought that so fair a being as your- 
self should have attracted during the days we have 
sailed together— may have attracted, bedad, I mean 
—the declared admiration even of a fellow like my- 
self, we being so much together; but I had heard 
your story, fair lady, and of the courtship paid you 
by Captain Vince of the corvette Badger, — whose 
family I knew in England,— and, acknowledging his 
superior claims, I constantly refrained, though not 
without great effort (I must say that much for my- 
self, fair lady), from— from— ” 

“Addressing me, I suppose you mean,” said Kate. 
“What you say, kind captain, redounds to your 
honor, and I thank you for your noble consideration ; 
but I feel bound to tell you that there was never any- 
thing between me and Captain Vince, and he is now 
dead.” 

The young pirate stepped back suddenly and 
opened wide his eyes. “What ! ” he exclaimed, “and 
all the time you were—” 

“Not free,” she interrupted, with a smile, “for I 
have a lover on the island of Barbados.” 

“Barbados,” repeated Captain Ichabod, and he bade 
Kate a most courteous farewell. 

All the good-bys had been said and good wishes 
had been wished, when, just as he was about to de- 
scend to his boat, Captain Ichabod turned to Lucilla. 
“And it is truly to Barbados you go ? ” he asked. 

“Yes,” said she ; “I think we shall certainly do that.” 

Now his face flushed. “And do you care for that 
fellow in the cocked hat?” 

Here was a cruel situation for poor Lucilla. She 
302 


THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTER 


must lie or lose two men. She might lose them any- 
way, but she would not do it of her own free will, and 
so she lied. 

“Not a whit ! 77 said Lucilla. 

The eyes of Ichabod brightened as he went down 
the side of the brig. 


303 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


BLACKBEARD GIVES GREENWAY SOME 
DIFFICULT WORK 

The great pirate Blackbeard, inactive and taking his 
ease, was seated on the quarter-deck of his fine vessel, 
on which he had lately done some sharp work off the 
harbor of Charles Town. He was now commanding a 
small fleet. Besides the ship on which he sailed, he 
had two other vessels, well manned and well laden 
with supplies from his recent captures. Satisfied 
with conquest, he was sailing northward to one of his 
favorite resorts on the North Carolina coast. 

To this conquering hero now came Ben Greenway, 
the Scotchman, touching his hat. 

“And what do you want?” cried the burly pirate. 
“Haven’t they given you your prize-money yet, or 
isn’t it enough?” 

“Prize-money ! ” exclaimed Greenway. “I hae 
none o’ it, nor will I hae any. What money I hae— 
an’ it is but little— came to me fairly.” 

“Oho ! ” cried Blackbeard, “and you have money, 
then, have you? Is it enough to make it worth my 
while to take it?” 

“Ye can count it an’ see, whenever ye like,” said 
Ben. “But it isna money that I came to talk to ye 
304 


DIFFICULT WORK FOR GREENWAY 


about. I came to ask ye, at the first convenient sea- 
son, to put me on board that ship out there, that I 
may be in my rightful place by the side o’ Master 
Bonnet.” 

“And what good are you to him, or he to you,” 
asked the pirate, with a fine long oath, “that I should 
put myself to that much trouble ? ” 

“I hae the responsibeelity o’ his soul on my 
hands,” said Ben, “an’ since we left Charles Town I 
hae not seen him, he bein’ on ane ship an’ I on 
anither.” 

“And very well that is, too,” said Blackbeard, “for 
I like each of you better separate. And now look ye, 
me kirk-bird, you have not done very well with your 
‘ responsibeelities ’ so far, and you might as well make 
up your mind to stop trying to convert that sneak of 
a Nightcap and take up the business of converting 
me. I’m in great need of it, I can tell you.” 

“You ! ” cried Ben. 

“I tell you, yes,” shouted Blackbeard $ “it is I my- 
self that I am talking about. I want to be converted 
from the evil of my ways, and I have made up my 
mind that you shall do it. You are a good and a 
pious man, and it is not often that I get hold of one 
of that kind ; or, if I do, I slice off his head before I 
discover his quality.” 

“I fear me,” said the truthful Scotchman, “that the 
job is beyond my abeelity.” 

“Not a bit of it, not a bit of it,” shouted the pirate. 
“I am fifty times easier to work upon than that 
Nightcap man of yours, and a hundred times better 
worth the trouble. I put no trust in that down-faced 
farmer. When he shouts loudest for the black flag he 
305 


KATE BONNET 


is most likely to go into priestly orders, and the bet- 
ter he is reformed the quicker is he to rob and mur- 
der. He is of the kind the devil wants, but it is of 
no use for any one to show him the way there— -he is 
well able to find it for himself. But it is different 
with me, you canny Scotchman, it is different with 
me. I am an open-handed and an open-mouthed 
scoundrel, and I never pretended to be anything else. 
When you begin reforming me you will find your 
work half done .’ 7 

The Scotchman shook his head. “I fear me—” he 
said. 

“Ho, you don’t fear yourself,” cried Blackbeard, 
“and I won’t have it ; I don’t want any of that lazy 
piety on board my vessel. If you don’t reform me, 
and do it rightly, I’ll slice off both your ears.” 

At this moment a man came aft, carrying a great 
tankard of mixed drink. Blackbeard took it and 
held it in his hand. 

“Now, then, you balking chaplain,” he cried, “here’s 
a chance for you to begin. What would you have me 
do ? Drain off this great mug and go slashing among 
my crew, or hurl it, mug and all — ” 

“Nay, nay,” cried Greenway ; “but rather give half 
o’ it to me ; then will it no’ disturb your brain, an’ 
mine will be comforted.” 

“Heigh-ho ! ” cried Blackbeard. “Truly you are a 
better chaplain than I thought you. Drain half this 
mug, and then, by all the powers of heaven and hell, 
you shall convert me. Now look ye,” said the pirate, 
when the mug was empty, “and hear what a brave 
repentance I have already begun. I am tired, my 
gay gardener, of all these piracies ; I have had enough 
306 


DIFFICULT WORK FOR GREENWAY 


of them. Even now my spoils and prizes are greater 
than I can manage, and why should I strive to make 
them more ? I told you of my young lieutenant, who 
ran away and who gave his carcass to the birds of 
prey rather than sail with me and marry my strap- 
ping daughter. I liked that fellow, Greenway, and if 
he had known what was well for him there might be 
some reason for me to keep on piling up goods and 
money ; but there’s cursed little reason for it now. I 
have merchandise of value at Belize, and much more 
of it in these ships, besides money from Charles Town 
which ought to last an honest gentleman for the rest 
of his days.” 

“Ay,” said Ben ; “but an honest gentlemon is spar- 
in’ o’ his expenditures.” 

“And you think I am not that kind of a man, do 
you? ” shouted the pirate. “But let me tell you this. 
I am sailing now for Topsail Inlet, on the North Car- 
olina coast, and I am going to run in there, disperse 
this fleet, sell my goods, and—” 

“Be hanged? ” interpolated Greenway, in surprise. 

“Not a bit of it, you croaking crow ! ” roared the 
pirate. “Not a bit of it ! Don’t you know, you dull- 
head, that our good King George has issued a procla- 
mation to the brethren of the coast to come in and 
behave themselves like honest citizens and receive 
their pardon? I have done that once, and so I know 
all about it ; but I backslid, showing that my conver- 
sion was badly done.” 

“It must hae been a poor hand that did the job for 
ye,” said Greenway, “for truly the conversion washed 
off in the first rain.” 

The pirate laughed a great laugh. “The fact is,” 
307 


KATE BONNET 


he said, “I did the work myself, and, knowing nothing 
about it, made a bad botch of it. But this time it will 
be different. I am going to give the matter into 
your hands, and I shall expect you to do it well. If 
I become not an honest gentleman this time, you shall 
pay for it, first with your ears and then with your 
head.” 

“An’ ye’re goin’ to keep me by ye?” said Green- 
way, with an expression not of the best. 

“Truly so,” said Blackbeard. “I shall make you 
my clerk as long as I am a pirate, for I have much 
writing and figuring work to be done, and after that 
you shall be my chaplain. And whether or not your 
work will be easier than it is now, it is not for me to 
say.” 

The Scotchman was about to make an exclamation 
which might not have been complimentary, but he 
restrained himself. 

“An’ Master Bonnet?” he asked. “If ye go out o’ 
piracy, he may go too, an’ take the oath.” 

“Of course he may,” cried the pirate, “and of 
course he shall ! I will see to that myself. Then I 
will give him back his ship, for I don’t want it, and 
let him become an honest merchant.” 

“Give him back his ship!” exclaimed Greenway, 
his countenance downcast. “That will be puttin’ into 
his hands the means o’ begin nin’ again a life o’ sin. 
I pray ye, don’t do that.” 

Blackbeard leaned back and laughed. “I swear 
that I thought it would be one of the very first steps 
in conversion for me to give back to the fellow the 
ship which is his own and which I have taken from 
him. But fear not, my noble pirate’s clerk. He is 
308 


DIFFICULT WORK FOR GREENWAY 


not the man that I am ; he is a vile coward, and when 
he has taken the oath he will he afraid to break it. 
Moreover — 77 

“An* if, with that ship, 7 ’ said Greenway, his eyes 
beginning to sparkle, “he become an honest mer- 
chant — 77 

“I don’t trust him , 77 said Blackbeard; “he is a 
knave and a sharper, and there is no truth in him. 
But when you have settled up my business, my clerk, 
and have gotten me well converted, I will send you 
away with him, and you shall take up again the 
responsibility of his soul . 77 

The Scotchman clapped his horny hands together. 

“An 7 once I get him back to Bridgetown, I will 
burn his cursed ship ! 77 

“Heigh-ho ! 77 cried Blackbeard, “and that will be 
your way of converting him? You know your busi- 
ness, my royal chaplain j you know it well . 77 And 
with that he gave Greenway a tremendous slap on 
the back which would have dashed to the deck an 
ordinary man ; but Ben Greenway was a Scotchman, 
tough as a yew-tree. 


309 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


CAPTAIN THOMAS OF THE ROYAL JAMES 

When Blackbeard’s little fleet anchored in Topsail 
Inlet, Stede Bonnet, who had not been informed of 
the intentions of the pirate, was a good deal puzzled. 

Since joining Blackbeard’s fleet in the vessel which 
came up from Belize, Bonnet had considered himself 
very shabbily treated, and his reasons for that opinion 
were not bad. During the engagements off Charles 
Town his services had not been required and his 
opinion had not been consulted, Blackbeard having 
no use for the one and no respect for the other. The 
pirate captain had taken a fancy to Ben Greenway, 
while his contempt for the Scotchman’s master in- 
creased day by day ; and it was for this reason that 
Greenway had been taken on board the flag-ship, 
while Bonnet remained on one of the smaller vessels. 

Bonnet was in a discontented and somewhat sulky 
mood, but when Blackbeard’s full plans were made 
known to him and he found that he might again re- 
sume command of his own vessel, the Revenge , if he 
chose to do so, his eyes began to sparkle once more. 

Ben Greenway soon resumed his former position 
with Bonnet, for it did not take Blackbeard very long 
to settle up his affairs, and in a very short time he 
310 


CAPT. THOMAS OF THE ROYAL JAMES 


became tired of the work of conversion, or, to speak 
more correctly, of the bore of talking about it. Bon- 
net was glad to have tbe Scotchman back again, al- 
though he never ceased to declare his desire to get rid 
of this faithful friend and helper ; for, when the Re- 
venge again came into his hands, there were many 
things to be done, and few people to help him do them. 

“It will be merchandise an 7 fair trade this time , 77 
said Ben, “an 7 ye’ll find it no 7 so easy as your piracies, 
though safer. An 7 when ye’re off to see the governor 
an 7 hae got your pardon, it’ll be a happy day, Master 
Bonnet, for ye an 7 for your daughter, an 7 for your 
brother-in-law an 7 everybody in Bridgetown wha 
either knew ye or respected ye . 77 

“No more of that,” cried Bonnet. “I did not say 
I was going to Bridgetown, or that I wanted anybody 
there to respect me. It is my purpose to fit out the 
Revenge as a privateer and get a commission to sail in 
her in the war between Spain and the Allies. This 
will be much more to my taste, Ben Greenway, than 
trading in sugar and hides.” 

Greenway was very grave. 

“There is so little difference,” said he, “between a 
privateer an 7 a pirate that it is a great strain on a 
common mind to keep them separate ; but a commis- 
sion from the king is better than a commission from 
the de’il, an 7 we’ll hope there won’t be much o’ a war 
after all is said an 7 done.” 

There was not much intercourse between Black- 
beard and Bonnet at Topsail Inlet. The pirate was 
on very good terms with the authorities at that place, 
who for their own sakes cared not much to interfere 
with him, and Bonnet had his own work in hand and 
311 


KATE BONNET 


industriously engaged in it. He went to Bath and 
got his pardon; he procured a clearance for St. 
Thomas, where he freely announced his intention to 
take out a commission as privateer, and he fitted out 
his vessel as best he could. Of men he had not many, 
but when he left the inlet he sailed down to an island 
on the coast where Blackbeard, having had too many 
men on his return from Charles Town, had marooned 
a large number of the sailors belonging to his different 
crews, finding this the easiest way of getting rid of 
them. Bonnet took these men on board with the 
avowed intention of taking them to St. Thomas, and 
then he set sail upon the high seas as free and un- 
trammelled as a fish-hawk sweeping over the surface 
of a harbor with clearance papers tied to his leg. 

Stede Bonnet had changed very much since he last 
trod the quarter-deck of the Revenge as her captain. 
He was not so important to look at, and he put on 
fewer airs of authority, but he issued a great many 
more commands. In fact, he had learned much about 
a sailor’s life, of navigation and the management of a 
vessel, and was far better able to command a ship 
than he had ever been before. He had had a long 
rest from the position of a private captain, and he 
had not failed to take advantage of the lessons which 
had been involuntarily given him by the veteran 
scoundrels who had held him in contempt. He was 
now, to a great extent, sailing-master as well as cap- 
tain of the Revenge . But Ben Greenway, who was 
much given to that sort of thing, undertook to offer 
Bonnet some advice in regard to his course. 

“I am no sailor,” said he, “but I ken a chart when 
I see it, an’ it is my opeenion that there is no need o’ 
312 


CAPT. THOMAS OF THE ROYAL JAMES 

your sailin’ so far to the east before ye turn about 
southward. There is naethin’ much stickin’ out from 
the coast between here an’ St. Thomas.” 

Bonnet looked at the Scotchman with lofty con- 
tempt. 

“Perhaps you can tell me,” said he, “what there is 
sticking out from the coast between here and Ocracoke 
Inlet, where you yourself told me that Blackbeard 
had gone with the one sloop he kept for himself.” 

“Blackbeard ! ” shouted the Scotchman. “An’ what 
in the de’il hae ye got to do wi’ Blackbeard? ” 

“Do with that infernal dog?” cried Bonnet. “I 
have everything to do with him before I do aught 
with anybody or anything besides. He stole from me 
my possessions ; he degraded me from my position ; he 
made me a laughing-stock to my men ; and he even 
made me blush and bow my head with shame before 
my daughter and my brother-in-law, two people in 
whose sight I would have stood up grander and bolder 
than before any others in the world. He took away 
from me my sword and he gave me instead a wretched 
pen ; he made me nothing where I had been every- 
thing. He even ceased to consider me any more than 
if I had been the dirty deck under his feet. And 
then, when he had done with my property and could 
get no more good out of it, he cast it to me in charity 
as a man would toss a penny to a beggar. Before I 
sail anywhere else, Ben Greenway,” continued Bon- 
net, “I sail for Ocracoke Inlet, and when I sight 
Blackbeard’s miserable little sloop I shall pour broad- 
side after broadside into her until I sink his wretched 
craft with his bedizened carcass on board of it.” 

“But will your men stand by ye? ” cried Greenway. 

313 


KATE BONNET 


“ Ye’re neither a pirate nor a vessel o’ war, to enter 
into a business like that.” 

Bonnet swore one of his greatest oaths. “ There is 
no business nor war for me, Ben Greenway,” he cried, 
“until I have taught that insolent Blackbeard what 
manner of man I am.” 

Ben Greenway was very much disheartened. “If 
Blackbeard should sink the Revenge instead o’ Master 
Bonnet sinkin’ him,” he said to himself, “an’ would 
be kind enough to maroon my old master an’ me, it 
might be the best for everybody, after all. Master 
Bonnet is vera humble-minded an’ complacent when 
bad fortune comes upon him, an’ it is my opeenion 
that on a desert island I could weel manage him for 
the good o’ his soul.” 

But there were no vessels sunk on that cruise. 
Blackbeard had gone nobody knew where, and after 
a time Bonnet gave up the search for his old enemy 
and turned his bow southward. Now Ben Green way’s 
countenance gleamed once more. 

“It’ll be a glad day at Spanish Town when Mistress 
Kate shall get my letter.” 

“And what have you been writing to her?” cried 
Bonnet. 

“I told her,” said Ben Greenway, “how at last ye 
hae come to your right mind, an’ how ye are a true 
servant o’ the king, wi’ your pardon in your pocket 
an’ your commission waitin’ for ye at St. Thomas, an’ 
that, whatever else ye may do at sea, there’ll be no 
more black flag floatin’ over your head, nor a see-saw 
plank wabblin’ under the feet o’ anybody else. The 
days o’ your piracies are over, an’ ye’re an honest mon 
once more.” 


314 


CAPT. THOMAS OF THE ROYAL JAMES 


“You wrote her that?” said Bonnet, with a frown. 

“Ay,” said Greenway ; “an’ I left it in the care o 7 a 
good mon whose ship is weel on its way to Kingston 
by this day.” 

That afternoon Captain Bonnet called all his men 
together and addressed them. 

He made a very good speech,— a better one than 
that delivered when he first took real command of the 
Revenge after sailing out of the river at Bridgetown,— 
and it was listened to with respectful and earnest in- 
terest. In brief manner he explained to all on board 
that he had thrown to the winds all idea of mer- 
chandising or privateering ; that his pardon and his 
ship’s clearance were of no value to him except he 
should happen to get into some uncomfortable pre- 
dicament with the law $ that he had no idea of sailing 
toward St. Thomas, but intended to proceed up the 
coast to burn and steal and rob and slay wherever he 
might find it convenient to do so ; that he had brought 
the greater part of his crew from the desert island 
where Blackbeard had left them, because he knew 
that they were stout and reckless fellows, just the sort 
of men he wanted for the piratical cruise he was 
about to begin 5 and that, in order to mislead any 
government authorities who by land or sea might 
seek to interfere with him, he had changed the name 
of the good old Revenge to the Royal James , while its 
captain, once Stede Bonnet, was now to be known on 
board and everywhere else as Captain Thomas, with 
nothing against him. He concluded by saying that 
all that had been done on that ship from the time she 
first hoisted the black flag until the present moment 
was nothing at all compared to the fire and the blood 
315 


KATE BONNET 


and the booty which should follow in the wake of that 
gallant vessel the Royal James , commanded by Cap- 
tain Thomas. 

The men looked at each other, but did not say 
much. They were all pirates, although few of them 
had regularly started out on a piratical career, and 
there was nothing new to them in this sort of pirat- 
ical dishonor. In the little cruise after Blackbeard 
their new captain had shown himself to be a good 
man, ready with his oaths and very certain about 
what he wanted done. So, whenever Stede Bonnet 
chose to run up the Jolly Roger, he might do it, for 
all they cared. 

Poor Ben Greenway sat apart, his head bowed upon 
his hands. 

“You seem to be in a bad case, old Ben,” said Bon- 
net, gazing down upon him, “but you throw yourself 
into needless trouble. As soon as I lay hold of some 
craft which I am willing shall go away with a sound 
hull, I will put you on board of her and let you go 
back to the farm. I will keep you no longer among 
these wicked people, Ben Greenway, and in this 
wicked place.” 

Ben shook his head. “I started wi 7 ye, an 7 I stayed 
wi 7 ye,’ 7 said he ; “an 7 I’ll follow ye to the vera gates 
o 7 hell 5 but farther than that, Master Bonnet, I willna 
go : at the gates o 7 hell I leave ye ! ” 


316 


CHAPTER XXXV 


A CHAPTER OF HAPPENINGS 

For happiness with a flaw in it, it was a very fair 
happiness which now hung over the Delaplaine home 
near Spanish Town. Kate Bonnet’s father was still a 
pirate, but there was no Captain Yince in hot pursuit 
of him, seeking his blood. Kate could sing with the 
birds and laugh with Dickory whenever she thought 
of the death of the wicked enemy. This was not, it 
may be thought, a proper joy for a young maiden’s 
heart ; but it came to Kate whether she would or not, 
the change was so great from the fear which had pos- 
sessed her before. 

The old home life began again, although it was a 
very quiet life. Dickory went into Master Delaplaine’s 
counting-house, but it was hard for the young man to 
doff the naval uniform which had been bestowed upon 
him by Blackbeard, for he knew he looked very well 
in it, and everybody else thought so and told him so ; 
but it could not be helped, and with all convenient 
speed he discarded his cocked hat and all the rest of 
it, and clothed himself in the simple garb of a mer- 
chant’s clerk, although it might be said that in all 
the West Indies, at that day, there was no clerk so 
good-looking as was Dickory. Dame Charter was so 
317 


KATE BONNET 


thankful that her boy had come safely through all his 
troubles, so proud of him, and so eminently well sat- 
isfied with his present position, that she asked noth- 
ing of her particular guardian angel but that Stede 
Bonnet might stay away. If, after tiring of piracy, 
that man came back, as his relatives wished him to 
do, the good dame was sure he would make mischief 
of some sort, and as like as not in the direction of her 
Dickory. If this evil family genius should be lost at 
sea or should disappear from the world in some 
equally painless and undisgraceful fashion, Dame 
Charter was sure that she could in a reasonable time 
quiet the grief of poor Kate ; for what right-minded 
damsel could fail to mingle thankfulness with her sor- 
row that a kind death should relieve a parent from 
the sins and disgraces which in life always seemed to 
open up in front of him ? 

About this time there came a letter from Bar- 
bados which was of great interest to everybody in 
the household. It was from Master Martin Kew- 
combe, and of course was written to Kate ; but 
she read many portions of it to the others. The 
first part of the epistle was not read aloud, but it 
was very pleasant for Kate to read it to herself. 
This man was a close lover and an ardent one. What- 
ever had happened to her fortunes, nothing had in- 
terfered with his affection ; whatever he had said he 
still bravely stood by, and to whatever she had ob- 
jected in the way of obstacles he had paid no atten- 
tion whatever. 

In the parts of the letter read to her uncle and the 
others, Master Kewcombe told how, not having heard 
from them for so long, he had been beginning to be 
318 


A CHAPTER OF HAPPENINGS 


greatly troubled ; but the arrival of the Black Swan , 
which, after touching at Kingston, had continued her 
course to Barbados, had given him new life and 
hope ; and it was his intention, as soon as he could 
arrange his affairs, to come to Jamaica, and there say 
by word of mouth and do in his own person so much 
for which a letter was totally inadequate. The 
thought of seeing Kate again made him tremble as 
he walked through his fields. This was read inad- 
vertently, and Diekory frowned. Dame Charter 
frowned too. She had never supposed that Master 
Hewcombe would come to Spanish Town. She had 
always looked upon him as a very worthy young 
farmer— so worthy that he would not neglect his 
interest by travelling about to other islands than his 
own. She did not know exactly how her son felt 
about all this, nor did she like to ask him j but Dick- 
ory saved her the trouble. 

“If that Kewcombe comes here,” he said, “I am 
going to fight him.” 

“What!” cried his mother. “You would not do 
that. That would be terrible ; it would ruin every- 
thing.” 

“Kuin what?” he asked. 

His mother answered diplomatically. “It would 
ruin all your fine opportunities in this family.” 

Diekory smiled with a certain sarcastic hardness. 
“I don't mean,” said he, “that I am going to hack at 
him with a sword, because neither he nor I properly 
know how to use swords, and after the wonderful 
practice that I have seen I would not want to prove 
myself a bungler, even if the other man were a worse 
one. Ho, mother 5 I mean to fight with him by all 
319 


KATE BONNET 


fair means to gain the hand of my dear Kate. I love 
her, and I am far more worthy of her than he is. He 
is not a well-disposed man, being rough and inconsid- 
erate in his speech.” Dickory had never forgiven 
the interview by the river-bank when he had gone to 
see Madam Bonnet. “And as to his being a stout 
lover, he is none of it. Had he been that, he would 
long ago have crossed the little sea between Barba- 
dos and here.” 

“Do you mean, you foolish boy,” exclaimed Dame 
Charter, “to say that you presume to love our Mis- 
tress Kate ? ” And her eyes glowed upon him with 
all the warmth of a mother’s pride, for this was the 
wish of her heart, and never absent from it. 

“Ay, mother,” said Dickory. “I shall fight for her ; 
I shall show her that I am worthier than he is, and 
that I love her better. I shall even strive for her if 
that mad pirate comes back and tries to overset 
everything.” 

“Oh, do it before that ! ” cried Dame Charter, anx- 
iety in every wrinkle. “Do it before that ! ” 

Master Delaplaine was a little troubled by the 
promised visit from Barbados. He had heard of 
Master Hewcombe as being a most estimable young 
man, but the fault about him, in his opinion, was that 
he resided not in J amaica. For a long time the good 
merchant had lived his own life, with no one to love 
him ; and he now had with him his sister’s child, 
whom he had come to look upon as a daughter, and 
he did not wish to give her up. It was true that it 
might be possible, under favorable pressure, to induce 
young Kewcombe to come to Jamaica and settle there, 
320 


A CHAPTER OF HAPPENINGS 


but this was all very vague. Had he had his own 
way, he would have driven from Kate every thought 
of love or marriage until the time when his new clerk, 
Dickory Charter, had become a young merchant of 
good standing, worthy of such a wife. Then he might 
have been willing to give Kate to Dickory, and Dick- 
ory would have given her to him, and they might 
have all been happy— that is, if that harebrained 
Bonnet did not come home. 

The Delaplaine family did not go much into society 
at that time, for people had known about the pirate 
and his ship the Revenge , and the pursuit upon which 
Captain Yince of the royal corvette Badger had been 
sent. They had all heard, too, of the death of Cap- 
tain Yince, and some of them were not quite certain 
whether he had been killed by the pirate Bonnet or 
another desperado equally dangerous. Knowing all 
this, although, if they had not known it, they would 
scarcely have found it out from the speech of their 
neighbors, the Delaplaines kept much to themselves. 
And they were happy, and the key-note of their hap- 
piness was struck by Kate, whose thankful heart 
could never forget the death of Captain Yince. 

Master Delaplaine made his proper visit to Spanish 
Town, to carry his thanks and to tell the governor 
how things had happened to him ; and the governor 
still showed his interest in Mistress Kate Bonnet, and 
expressed his regret that she had not come with her 
uncle, which was a very natural wish indeed for a 
governor of good taste. 

This is a chapter of happenings, and the next hap- 
pening was a letter from that good man Ben Green- 
321 


KATE BONNET 


way, and it told the most wonderful, splendid, and 
glorious news that had ever been told under the 
bright sun of the beautiful West Indies. It told that 
Captain Stede Bonnet was no longer a pirate, and 
that Kate was no longer a pirate’s daughter. These 
happy people did not join hands and dance and sing 
over the great news, but Kate’s joy was so great that 
she might have done all these things without knowing 
it, so thankful was she that once again she had a 
father. This rapture so far outshone her relief at the 
news of the death of Captain Vince that she almost 
forgot that that wicked man was safe and dead. 
Kate was in such a state of wild delight that she 
insisted that her uncle should make another visit to 
the governor’s house, and take her with him, that she 
herself might carry the governor the good news ; and 
the governor said such heart-warming things when 
he heard it that Kate kissed him in very joy. But 
as Dickory was not of the party, this incident was not 
entered as part of the proceedings. 

Kow society, both in Spanish Town and Kingston, 
opened its arms and insisted that the fair star of Bar- 
bados should enter them, and there were parties and 
dances and dinners, and it might have been supposed 
that everybody had been a father or a mother to a 
prodigal son, so genial and joyful were the festivities 
— Kate high above all others. 

At some of these social functions Dickory Charter 
was present, but it is doubtful whether he was hap- 
pier when he saw Kate surrounded by gay admirers 
or when he was at home imagining what was going on 
about her. 

There was but one cloud in the midst of all this 
322 


A CHAPTER OF HAPPENINGS 


sunshine, and that was that Master Delaplaine, Dame 
Charter, and her son Dickory could not forget that it 
was now in the line of events that Stede Bonnet 
would soon be with them, and beyond that all was 
chaos. 

And over the seas sailed the good ship the Eoyal 
James , Captain Thomas in command. 


323 


CHAPTER XXXYI 


THE TIDE DECIDES 

It was now September, and the weather was beauti- 
ful on the Xorth Carolina coast. Captain Thomas 
(late Bonnet) of the Royal James (late Revenge') had 
always enjoyed cool nights and invigorating morning 
air, and therefore it was that he said to his faithful 
servitor Ben Greenway, when first he stepped out 
upon the deck as his vessel lay comfortably anchored 
in a little cove in the Cape Fear River, that he did 
not remember ever having been in a more pleasant 
harbor. This well-tried pirate captain— Stede Bon- 
net, as we shall call him, notwithstanding his assump- 
tion of another name— was in a genial mood as he 
drank in the morning air. 

From his point of view he had a right to be genial ; 
he had a right to be pleased with the scenery and the 
air ; he had a right to swear at the Scotchman, and to 
ask him why he did not put on a merrier visage on 
such a sparkling morning : for since he had first started 
out as Captain Thomas of the Royal James he had 
been a most successful pirate. He had sailed up the 
Virginia coast ; he had burned, he had sunk, he had 
robbed, he had slain ; he had gone up the Delaware 
Bay, and the people in ships and the people on the 
324 


THE TIDE DECIDES 


coasts trembled even when they heard that his black 
flag had been sighted. 

No man could now say that the former captain of 
the Revenge was not an accomplished and seasoned 
desperado. Even the great Blackbeard would not 
have cared to give him nicknames, nor dared to play 
his blithesome tricks upon him j he was now no more 
Captain Nightcap to any man. His crew of hairy 
ruffians had learned to understand that he knew what 
he wanted, and, more than that, he knew how to 
order it done. They listened to his great oaths and 
they respected him. This powerful pirate now com- 
manded a small fleet, for in the cove where lay his 
flag-ship also lay two good-sized sloops, manned by 
their own crews, which he had captured in Delaware 
Bay and had brought down with him to this quiet 
spot, a few miles up the Cape Fear Biver, where now 
he was repairing his own ship, which had had a hard 
time of it since she had again come into his hands. 

For many a long day the sound of the hammer and 
the saw had mingled with the song of the birds, and 
Captain Bonnet felt that in a day or two he might 
again sail out upon the sea, conveying his two prizes 
to some convenient mart, while he, with his good 
ship freshened and restored, would go in search of 
more victories, more booty, and more blood. 

“ Greenway, I tell you,” said Bonnet, continuing his 
remarks, “you are too glum ; you’ve got the only long 
face in all this my fleet. Even those poor fellows 
who man my prizes are not so solemn, although they 
know not, when I have done with them, whether I 
shall maroon them to quietly starve or shall sink them 
in their own vessels.” 


325 


KATE BONNET 


“But I hae no such reason to be cheerful,” said 
Ben. “I hae bound mysel’ to stand by ye till ye hae 
gone to the de’il, an’ I hae no chance o’ freein’ mysel’ 
from my responsibeelities by perishin’ on land or in 
the sea.” 

“If anything could make me glum, Ben Greenway, 
it would be you,” said the other $ “but I am getting 
used to you, and some of these days, when I have cap- 
tured a ship laden with Scotch liquors and Scotch 
plaids, I believe that you will turn pirate yourself for 
the sake of your share of the prizes.” 

“Which is likely to be on the same mornin’ that 
ye turn to be an honest mon,” said Ben ; “but I am 
no’ in the way o’ expectin’ miracles.” 

On went the pounding and the sawing and the 
hammering and the swearing and the singing of birds, 
although the latter were a little farther away than 
they had been ; and in the course of the day the pirate 
captain, erect, scrutinizing, and blasphemous, went 
over his ship, superintending the repairs. In a day 
or two everything would be finished, and then he and 
his two prizes could up sail and away. It was a 
beautiful harbor in which he lay, but he was getting 
tired of it. 

There were great prospects before our pirate cap- 
tain. Perhaps he might have the grand good fortune 
to fall in with that low-born devil Blackbeard, who, 
when last he had been heard from, commanded but a 
small vessel, fearing no attack upon this coast. What 
a proud and glorious moment it would be when a 
broadside, and another and another, should be poured 
in upon his little craft from the long guns of the 
Royal James. 


326 


THE TIDE DECIDES 


Bonnet was still standing, reflecting, with bright 
eyes, upon this dazzling future, and wondering what 
would be the best way of letting the dastardly Black- 
beard know whose guns they were which had sunk 
his ship, when a boat was seen coming around the 
headland. This was one of his own boats, which had 
been posted as a sentinel, and which now brought 
the news that two vessels were coming in at the 
mouth of the river, but that as the distance was great 
and the night was coming on they could not decide 
what manner of craft they were. 

This information made everybody jump, on board 
the Eoyal James , and the noise of the sawing and the 
hammering ceased as completely as had the songs of 
the birds. In a few minutes that quick and able mar- 
iner, Bonnet, had sent three armed boats down the 
river to reconnoitre. If the vessels entering the river 
were merchantmen they should not be allowed to get 
away ; but if they were enemies, although it was diffi- 
cult to understand how enemies could make their ap- 
pearance in these quiet waters, they must be attended 
to, either by fight or flight. 

When the three boats came back, and it was late 
before they appeared, every man upon the Eoyal 
James was crowded along her side to hear the news, 
and even the people on the prizes knew that some- 
thing had happened, and stood upon every point of 
vantage, hoping that in some way they could find out 
what it was. 

The news brought by the boats was to the effect 
that two vessels, not sailing as merchantmen and well 
armed and manned, were now ashore on sand-bars, 
not very far above the mouth of the river. Now 
327 


KATE BONNET 


Bonnet swore bravely. If the work upon his vessels 
had been finished he would up anchor and away, and 
sail past these two grounded ships, whatever they 
were and whatever they came for. He would sail < 
past them and take with him his two prizes ; he would - 
glide out to sea with the tide, and he would laugh at 
them as he left them behind. But the Royal James 
was not ready to sail. 

The tide was now low. Five hours afterwards, when 
it should be high, those two ships, whatever they 
were, would float again, and the Royal James , what- 
ever her course of action should be, would be cut off 
from the mouth of the river. This was a greater 
risk than even a pirate as bold as Bonnet would wish 
to run, and so there was no sleep that night on the 
Royal James . The blows of the hammers and the 
sounds of the saws made a greater noise than they had 
ever done before, so that the night birds were fright- 
ened and flew shrieking away. Every man worked 
with all the energy that was in him, for each hairy 
rascal had reason to believe that if the vessel they 
were on did not get out of the river before the two 
armed strangers should be afloat there might be hard 
times ahead for them. Even Ben Greenway was 
aroused. “The de’il shallna get him any sooner 
than can be helped,” he said to himself, and he ham- 
mered and sawed with the rest of them. 

On his stout and well-armed sloop the Henry , Mas- 
ter William Rhett, of Charles Town, South Carolina, 
paced anxiously all night. Frequently from the 
sand-bar on which his vessel was grounded he called 
over to his other sloop, also fast grounded, giving 
orders and asking questions. On both vessels every - 
328 


THE TIDE DECIDES 


body was at work, getting ready for action when the 
tide should rise. 

Some weeks before, the wails and complaints of a 
tortured sea-coast had come down from the Jersey 
shores to South Carolina, asking for help at the only 
place along that coast whence help could come. A 
pirate named Thomas was working his way south- 
ward, spreading terror before him and leaving misery 
behind. These appeals touched the hearts of the 
people of Charles Town, already sore from the injuries 
and insults inflicted upon them by Blackbeard in 
those days when Bonnet sat silently on the pirate 
ship, doing nothing and learning much. 

There was no hesitancy ; for their own sake and for 
the sake of their commerce, this new pirate must not 
come to Charles Town harbor ; and an expedition of 
two vessels, heavily armed and well manned and 
commanded by Master William Bhett, was sent north- 
ward up the coast to look for the pirate named 
Thomas and to destroy him and his ship. Master 
Bhett was not a military man, nor did he belong to 
the navy. He was a citizen capable of commanding 
soldiers, and as such he went forth to destroy the 
pirate Thomas. 

Master Bhett met people enough along the coast 
who told him where he might find the pirate, but he 
found no one to tell him how to navigate the danger- 
ous waters of the Cape Fear Biver ; and so it was that 
soon after entering that fine stream he and his consort 
found themselves aground. 

Master Bhett was quite sure that he had discovered 
the lair of the big game he was looking for. Just 
before dark, three boats, well filled with men, had 
329 


KATE BONNET 


appeared from up the river, and they had looked so 
formidable that everything had been made ready to 
resist an attack from them. They retired, but every 
now and then during the night, when there was quiet 
for a few minutes, there would come down the river 
on the wind the sound of distant hammering and the 
noise of saws. 

It was after midnight before the Henry and the Sea 
Nymph floated free, but they anchored where they 
were and waited for the morning. Whether they 
would sail up the river after the pirate or whether he 
would come down to them, daylight would show. 

Master Khett’s vessels had been at anchor for five 
hours, and every man on board of them was watch- 
ing and waiting, when daylight appeared and showed 
them a tall ship, under full sail, rounding the distant 
headland up the river. Now up came their anchors 
and their sails were set. The pirate was coming ! 

Whatever the Royal James intended to do, Master 
Bhett had but one plan, and that was to meet the 
enemy as soon as possible and fight him. So up sailed 
the Henry and up sailed the Sea Nymph , and they 
pressed ahead so steadily to meet the Royal James that 
the latter vessel, in carrying out what was now her 
obvious intention of getting out to sea, was forced 
shoreward, where she speedily ran upon a bar. Then 
from the vessels of Charles Town there came great 
shouts of triumph, which ceased when first the Henry 
and then the Sea Nymph ran upon other bars and 
remained stationary. 

Here was an unusual condition— three ships of war 
all aground and about to begin a battle, a battle which 
would probably last for five hours if one or more of 
330 


THE TIDE DECIDES 


the stationary vessels were not destroyed before that 
time. It was soon found, however, that there would 
only be two parties to the fight, for the Sea Nymph 
was too far away to use her guns. The Boyal James 
had an advantage over her opponents, since, when 
she slightly careened, her decks were slanted away 
from the enemy, while the latter’s were presented to 
her fire. 

At it they went, hot and heavy. Bonnet and his 
men now knew that they were engaged with commis- 
sioned war-vessels, and they fought for their lives. 
Master Rhett knew that he was fighting Thomas, the 
dreaded pirate of the coast, and he felt that he must 
destroy him before his vessel should float again. The 
cannon roared, muskets blazed away, and the com- 
batants were near enough even to use pistols upon 
each other. Men died, blood flowed, and the fight 
grew fiercer and fiercer. 

Bonnet roared like an incarnate devil : he swore at 
his men, he swore at the enemy, he swore at his bad 
fortune ; for had he not missed the channel the game 
would have been in his own hands. 

So on they fought, and the tide kept steadily rising. 
The five hours must pass at last, and the vessel which 
first floated would win the day. 

The five hours did pass, and the Henry floated, and 
Bonnet swore louder and more fiercely than before. 
He roared to his men to fire and to fight, no matter 
whether they were still aground or not; and with 
many oaths he vowed that if any one of them showed 
but a sign of weakening he would cut him down upon 
the spot. But the hairy scoundrels who made up the 
crew of the Boyal James had no idea of lying there 
331 


KATE BONNET 


with their ship on its side while two other ships— for 
the Sea Nymph was now afloat— should sail around 
them, rake their decks, and shatter them to pieces. 
So the crew consulted together, despite their captain’s 
roars and oaths, and many of them counselled sur- 
render. Their vessel was much farther inshore than 
the two others, and no matter what happened after- 
wards, they preferred to live longer than fifteen or 
twenty minutes. 

But Bonnet quailed not before fate, before the 
enemy, or before his crew ; if he heard another word 
of surrender he would fire the magazine and blow the 
ship to the sky with every man in it. Baising his 
cutlass in air, he was about to bring it down upon 
one of the cowards he berated, when suddenly he was 
seized by two powerful hands, which pinned his arms 
behind him. With a scream of rage, he turned his 
head and found that he was in the grasp of Ben 
Greenway. 

“Let go your sword, Master Bonnet,” said Ben ; “it 
is o’ no use to ye now, for ye canna get awa’ from me. 
I’m nae older than ye are, though I look it, an’ I’ve 
got the harder muscles. Ye maybe makin’ your way 
steadily an’ surely to the gates o’ hell, an’ it mayna be 
possible that I can prevent ye j but I’m no’ goin’ to 
let ye tumble in by accident so long as I’ve got two 
arms left to me.” 

Pale, haggard, and writhing, Stede Bonnet was 
disarmed, and the Jolly Roger came down. 


332 


CHAPTER XXXYII 


BONNET AND GEEENWAY PAST COMPANY 

It was three days after this memorable combat— for 
the vessels engaged in it needed considerable repairs 
—when Master Rhett of Charles Town sailed down 
the Cape Fear River with his five vessels— the two 
with which he had entered it, the pirate Boy at James , 
and the two prizes of the latter, which had waited 
quietly up the river to see how matters were going to 
turn out. 

On the Henry sailed the pirate Thomas, now dis- 
covered to be the notorious Stede Bonnet, and a very 
quiet and respectful man he was. As has been seen 
before, Bonnet was a man able to adapt himself to 
circumstances. There never was a more demure 
counting-house clerk than was Bonnet at Belize ; there 
never was an humbler dependent than the almost un- 
noticed Bonnet after he had joined Blackbeard’s fleet 
before Charles Town ; and there never was a more 
deferential and respectful prisoner than Stede Bonnet 
on board the Henry. It was really touching to see 
how this cursing and raging pirate deported himself 
as a meek and uncomplaining gentleman. 

There was no prison-house in Charles Town, but 
Stede Bonnet's wicked crew, including Ben Greenway, 
333 


KATE BONNET 


—for his captors were not making any distinctions in 
regard to common men taken on a pirate ship, — were 
clapped into the watch-house— and a crowded and 
uncomfortable place it was— and put under a heavy 
military guard. The authorities were, however, 
making distinctions where gentlemen of family and 
owners of landed estates were concerned, no matter 
if they did happen to be taken on a pirate ship, and 
Major Bonnet of Barbados was lodged in the provost 
marshal’s house, in comfortable quarters, with only 
two sentinels outside to make him understand he was 
a prisoner. 

The capture of this celebrated pirate created a sen- 
sation in Charles Town, and many of the citizens were 
not slow to pay the unfortunate prisoner the atten- 
tions due to his former position in society. He was 
very well satisfied with his treatment in Charles 
Town, which city he had never before had the pleasure 
of visiting. 

The attentions paid to Ben Greenway were not 
pleasing. Sometimes he was shoved into one corner 
and sometimes into another. He frequently had 
enough to eat and drink, but very often this was not 
the case. Bonnet never inquired after him. If he 
thought of him at all, he hoped that he had been 
killed in the fight, for if that were the case he would 
be rid of his eternal preachments. 

Greenway made known the state of his own case 
whenever he had a chance to do so ; but his com- 
plaints received no attention, and he might have re- 
mained with the crew of the Boyal James as long as 
they were shut up in the watch-house had not some 
334 


BONNET AND GREENWAY SEPARATE 


of the hairy cutthroats themselves taken pity upon 
him and assured the guards that this man was not one 
of them, and that they knew from what they had 
heard him say and seen him do that there was no 
more determined enemy of piracy in all the Western 
continent. So it happened that after some weeks of 
confinement Greenway was let out of the watch-house 
and allowed to find quarters for himself. 

The first day the Scotchman was free he went to 
the provost marshal’s house and petitioned an inter- 
view with his old master Bonnet. 

“Heigh-ho ! ” cried the latter, who was comfortably 
seated in a chair reading a letter. “And where do 
you come from, Ben Greenway ? I had thought you 
were dead and buried in the Cape Fear River.” 

“Ye didna think I was dead,” replied Ben, “when 
I seized ye an’ held ye an’ kept ye from buryin’ 
yoursel’ in that same river.” 

Bonnet waved his hand. “Ho more of that,” said 
he ; “I was unfortunate, but that is over now, and 
things have turned out better than any man could 
have expected.” 

“Better!” exclaimed Ben. “I vow I know not 
what that means.” 

Bonnet laughed. He was looking very well; he 
was shaved, and wore a neat suit of clothes. 

“Ben Greenway,” said he, “you are now looking 
upon a man of high distinction. At this moment I 
am the greatest pirate on the face of the earth. Yes, 
Greenway, the greatest pirate on the face of the earth. 
I have a letter here which was received by the prov- 
ost marshal, and which he gave me to read, which 
335 


KATE BONNET 


tells that Blackbeard, the first pirate of his age, is 
dead. Therefore, Ben Greenway, I take his place, 
and there is no living pirate greater than I am.” 

“An’ ye pride yoursel’ on that, an’ at this moment? ” 
asked Ben, truly amazed. 

“That do I,” said Bonnet. “And think of it, Ben 
Green way : that presumptuous, overbearing Black - 
beard was killed, and his head brought away stick- 
ing up on the bow of a vessel. What a rare sight 
that must have been, Ben ! Think of his long beard, 
all tied up with ribbons, stuck up on the bow of a 
ship ! ” 

“An’ ye are now the head de’il on earth? ” said Ben. 

“You can put it that way if you like,” said Bonnet, 
“but I am not so looked upon in this town. I am an 
honored person. I doubt very much if any prisoner 
in this country was ever treated with the distinction 
that is shown me. But I don’t wonder at it ; I have 
the reputation of two great pirates joined in one— the 
pirate Bonnet of the dreaded ship Revenge , and the 
terrible Thomas of the Royal James. My man, there 
are people in this town who have been to me and 
who have said that a man so famous should not even 
be imprisoned. I have good reason to believe that 
it will not be long before pardon papers are made out 
for me, and that I may go my way.” 

“An’ your men?” asked Greenway. “Will they 
go free or will they be hung like common pirates ? ” 

Bonnet frowned impatiently. “I don’t want to 
hear anything about the men,” he said ; “of course 
they will be hung. What could be done with them 
if they were not hung? But it is entirely different 
with me. I am a most respectable person, and, now 
336 


BONNET AND GREENWAY SEPARATE 


that I am willing to resign my piratical career, hav- 
ing won in it all the glory that can come to one man, 
that respectability must be considered / 7 

“Weel, weel , 77 said the Scotchman; “an 7 when it 
comes that respectabeelity is better for a mon’s soul 
an 7 body than righteousness, then I am no fit coun- 
sellor for ye, Master Bonnet 77 ; and he took his leave. 
The next morning, when Ben Greenway left his lodg- 
ing, he found the town in an uproar. The pirate 
Bonnet had bribed his sentinels and, with some others, 
had escaped. Ben stood still and stamped his foot. 
Such infamy, such perfidy to the authorities who had 
treated him so well, the Scotchman could not at first 
imagine. But when the truth became plain to him, his 
face glowed, his eye burned. This vile conduct of his 
old master was a triumph to Ben 7 s principles : wicked- 
ness was wickedness, and could not be washed away 
by respectability. 

The days passed on. Bonnet was recaptured, more 
securely imprisoned, put upon trial, found guilty, and, 
in spite of the efforts of the advocates of respectability, 
was condemned to be hung on the same spot where 
nearly all the members of his pirate crew had been 
executed. 

During all this time Ben Greenway kept away from 
his old master. He had borne ill-treatment of every 
kind ; but the deception practised upon him when, at 
his latest interview, Bonnet talked to him of his re- 
spectability, having already planned an escape and 
return to his evil ways, was too much for the honest 
Scotchman. He had done with this man, faithless to 
friend and foe, to his own blood, and even to his own 
bad reputation. 


337 


KATE BONNET 


But not quite done. It was but half an hour before 
the time fixed for the pirate’s execution that Ben 
Greenway gained access to him. 

“What!” cried Bonnet, raising his head from his 
hands. “You here? I thought I had done with 
you ! ” 

“Ay, I am here,” said Ben Greenway. “I hae stood 
by ye in good fortune an’ in bad fortune, an’ I hae 
never left ye, no matter what happened ; an’ I told 
ye I would follow ye to the gates o’ hell, but I could 
go no farther. I hae kept my word, an’ here I stop. 
Fareweel ! ” 

“The only comfortable thing about this business,” 
said Bonnet, “is to know that at last I am rid of that 
fellow ! ” 


338 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


AGAIN DICKORY WAS THERE 

There were indeed gay times in Spanish Town, and, 
with the two loads lifted from her heart, Kate helped 
very much to promote the gayety. If this young lady 
had wished to make a good colonial match, she had 
opportunities enough for so doing j but she was not in 
that frame of mind, and encouraged no suitor. 

But, bright as she was, she was not so bright as on 
that great and glorious day when she received Ben 
Greenway’s letter telling her that her father was no 
longer a pirate. There were several reasons for this 
gradually growing twilight of her happiness, and one 
was that no letter came from her father. To be sure, 
there were many reasons why no letter should come. 
There were no regular mails in these colonies which 
could be depended upon, and, besides, the new career 
of her father, sailing as a privateer under the king’s 
flag, would probably make it very difficult for him to 
send a letter to Jamaica by any regular or irregular 
method. Moreover, her father was a miserable cor- 
respondent, and always had been. Thus she com- 
forted herself and was content, though not very well 
content, to wait. 


339 


KATE BONNET 


Then there was another thing which troubled her, 
when she thought of it. That good man and steady- 
lover Martin Hewcombe had written that he was 
coming to Spanish Town, and she knew very well 
what he was coming for and what he would say $ but 
she did not know what she would say to him, and 
the thought of this troubled her. In a letter she 
might put off the answer for which he had been so 
long and patiently waiting ; but when she met him 
face to face there could be no more delay— she must 
tell him yes or no ; and she was not ready to do this. 

There was so much to think of, so many plans to be 
considered in regard to going back to Barbados or 
staying in Jamaica, that really she could not make up 
her mind, at least not until she had seen her father. 
She would be so sorry if Master Hewcombe came to 
Spanish Town before her father should arrive, or at 
least before she should hear from him. 

Then there was another thing which added to the 
twilight of these cheerful days, and this Kate could 
scarcely understand, because she could see no reason 
why it should affect her. The governor, whom they 
frequently met in the course of the pleasant social 
functions of the town, looked troubled, and was not 
the genial gentleman he used to be. Of course he 
had a right to his own private perplexities and an- 
noyances, but it grieved Kate to see the change in 
him. He had always been so cordial and so cheerful ; 
he was now just as kind as ever, perhaps a little more 
so, in his manner, but he was not cheerful. 

Kate mentioned to her uncle the changed demeanor 
of the governor, but he could give no explanation ; he 
had heard of no political troubles, but supposed that 
340 


AGAIN DICKORY WAS THERE 

family matters might easily have saddened the good 
man. 

He himself was not very cheerful, for day after day 
brought nearer the time when that uncertain Stede 
Bonnet might arrive in Jamaica, and what would 
happen after that no man could tell. One thing he 
greatly feared, and that was that his dear niece Kate 
might be taken away from him. Dame Charter was 
not so very cheerful, either. Only in one way did she 
believe in Stede Bonnet, and that was that after some 
fashion or another he would come between her and 
her bright dreams for her dear Dickory. 

And so there were some people in Spanish Town 
who were not as happy as they had been. 

Still there were dinners and little parties, and 
society made itself very pleasant ; and in the midst 
of them all a ship came in from Barbados bringing 
a letter from Martin Kewcombe. 

A strange thing about this letter was that it was 
addressed to Master Delaplaine and not to Mistress 
Kate Bonnet. This, of course, proved the letter must 
be on business ; and, although he was with his little 
family when he opened his letter, he thought it well 
to glance at it before reading it aloud. The first few 
lines showed him that it was indeed a business letter, 
for it told of the death of Madam Bonnet, and how 
the writer, Martin Newcombe, as a neighbor and 
friend of the family, had been called in to take tem- 
porary charge of her effects, and, having done so, he 
hastened to inform Master Delaplaine of his proceed- 
ings and to ask advice. This letter he now read 
aloud, and Kate and the others were greatly inter- 
ested therein, although they cautiously forbore the 
341 


KATE BONNET 


expression of any opinion which might rise in their 
minds regarding this turn of affairs. 

Having finished these business details, Master Dela- 
plaine went on and read aloud j and in the succeeding 
portion of the letter Master Kewcombe begged Master 
Delaplaine to believe that it was the hardest duty of 
his whole life to write what he was now obliged to 
write, but he knew that he must do it, and therefore 
would not hesitate. At this the reader looked at his 
niece and stopped. 

“Go on,” cried Kate, her face a little flushed ; 
“go on ! ” 

The face of Master Delaplaine was pale, and for a 
moment he hesitated ; then, with a sudden jerk, he 
nerved himself to the effort and read on : he had seen 
enough to make him understand that the duty before 
him was to read on. 

Briefly and tersely, but with tears in the very ink, 
so sad were the words, the writer assured Master Dela- 
plaine that his love for his niece had been, and was, 
the overpowering impulse of his life ; that to win this 
love he had dared everything, he had hoped for every- 
thing, he had been willing to pass by and overlook 
everything : but that now— and it tore his heart to 
write it— his evil fortune had been too much for him ; 
he could do anything for the sake of his love that a 
man with respect for himself could do, but there was 
one thing at which he must stop, at which he must 
bow his head and submit to his fate: he could not 
marry the daughter of an executed felon. 

Thus came to that little family group the news of 
the pirate Bonnet’s death. There was more of the 
letter, but Master Delaplaine did not read it. 

342 


AGAIN DICKORY WAS THERE 


Kate did not scream, nor moan, nor faint, but she 
sat np straight in her chair, and gazed with a wild 
intentness at her uncle. No one spoke. At such a 
moment condolence or sympathy would have been a 
cruel mockery. They were all as pale as chalk. In 
his heart Master Delaplaine said : “I see it all ; the 
governor must have known, and he loved her so he 
could not break her heart.” 

In the midst of the silence, in the midst of the 
chalky whiteness of their faces, in the midst of the 
blackness which was settling down upon them, Kate 
Bonnet still sat upright, a coldness creeping through 
every part of her. Suddenly she turned her head, 
and in a voice of wild entreaty she called out : “Oh, 
Dickory, why don’t you come to me ! ” 

In an instant Dickory was there, and, cold and 
lifeless, Kate Bonnet was in his arms. 


343 


CHAPTER XXXIX 

THE BLESSINGS WHICH COME FROM THE 
DEATH OF THE WICKED 

It was three weeks after Martin Hewcombe’s letter 
came before Ben Greenway arrived in Spanish Town. 
He had had a hard time to get there, having but little 
money and no friends to help him ; but he had a strong 
heart and an earnest, and so he was bound to get there 
at last ; and, although Kate saw no visitors, she saw 
him. She was not dressed in mourning; she could 
not wear black for herself. 

She greeted the Scotchman with earnestness, — he 
was a friend out of the old past, — but she gave him no 
chance to speak first. 

“Ben,” she exclaimed, “have you a message for me ? ” 

“Ho message,” he replied, “but I hae somethin’ on 
my heart I wish to say to ye. I hae toiled an’ labored 
an’ hae striven wi’ mony obstacles to get to ye an’ to 
say it.” 

She looked at him with her brows knit, wondering 
if she should allow him to speak ; then, with the words 
scarcely audible between her tightly closed lips, she 
said : “Ben, what is it? ” 

“It is this, an’ no more nor less,” replied the Scotch- 
344 


BLESSINGS FROM DEATH OF WICKED 


man. “He was never fit to be your father, an’ it is not 
fit now for ye to remember him as your father. I 
was faithful to him to the vera last, but there was no 
truth in him. It is an abomination an’ a wickedness 
for ye to remember him as your father ! " 

Kate spoke no word, nor did she shed a tear. 

“It was my heart's desire ye should know it," said 
the Scotchman, “an’ I came mony a weary league to 
tell ye so." 

“Ben," said she, “I think I have known it for a long 
time, but I would not suffer myself to believe it ; but 
now, having heard your words, I am sure of it." 

“Uncle," said she, an hour afterwards, “I have no 
father, and I never had one." 

With tears in his eyes he folded her to his breast, 
and peace began to rise in his soul. Ho greater bless- 
ing can come to really good people than the absolute 
disappearance of the wicked. 

And the wickedness which had so long shadowed 
and stained the life of Kate Bonnet was now removed 
from it. It was hard to get away from the shadow 
and to wipe off the stain, but she was a brave girl and 
she did it. 

In this work of her life— a work which, if not ac- 
complished, would make that life not worth the living 
—Kate was much helped by Dickory ; and he helped 
her by not saying a word about it, or ever allowing 
himself, when in her presence, to remember that there 
had been a shadow or a stain. And if he thought of 
it at all when by himself, his only feeling was one of 
thankfulness that what had happened had given her 
to him. 

Even the governor brightened. He had striven 
345 


KATE BONNET 


hard to keep from Kate the news which had come to 
him from Charles Town, suppressing it in the hopes 
that it might reach her more gradually and with less 
terrible effect than if he told it ; but now that he knew 
that she knew it, the blessings which are shed abroad 
by the disappearance of the wicked affected him also, 
and he brightened. There were no functions for Kate, 
but she brightened, striving with all her soul to have 
this so, for her own sake as well as that of others. As 
for Master Delaplaine, Dame Charter, and Dickory, 
they brightened without any trouble at all, the dis- 
appearance of the wicked having such a direct and 
forcible effect upon them. 

Dickory Charter, who matured in a fashion which 
made everybody forget that Kate Bonnet was eleven 
months his senior, entered into business with Master 
Delaplaine, and Jamaica became the home of this 
happy family, whose welfare was founded, as on a 
rock, upon the disappearance of the wicked. 

Here, then, was a brave girl who had loved her 
father with a love which was more than that of a 
daughter, which was the love of a mother, of a wife ; 
who had loved him in prosperity and in times of 
sorrow and of shame ; who had rejoiced like an angel 
whenever he turned his footsteps into the right way, 
* and who had mourned like an angel whenever he went 
wrong. She had longed to throw her arms around 
her father’s neck, to hold him to her, and thus keep 
off the hangman’s noose. Her courage and affection 
never waned until those arms were rudely thrust aside 
and their devoted owner dastardly repulsed. 

True to herself and to him, she loved her father so 
346 


BLESSINGS FROM DEATH OF WICKED 


long as there was anything parental in him which she 
might love ; and, true to herself, when he had left her 
nothing she might love, she bowed her head and 
suffered him, as he passed out of his life, to pass out 
of her own. 


347 


CHAPTER XL 


CAPTAIN ICHABOD PUTS THE CASE 

In the river at Bridgetown lay the good brig King 
and Queen , just arrived from Jamaica. On her deck 
was an impatient young gentleman leaning over the 
rail and watching the approach of a boat with two 
men rowing and a passenger in the stern. 

This impatient young man was Hickory Charter, 
that morning arrived at Bridgetown and not yet hav- 
ing been on shore. He came for the purpose of 
settling some business affairs, partly on account of 
Mistress Kate Bonnet and partly for his mother. 

As the boat came nearer, Dickory recognized one 
of the men who were rowing, and hailed him. 

“Heigh-ho, Tom Hilyer ! ” he cried. “I am right 
glad to see you on this river again. I want a boat to 
go to my mother’s house ; know you of one at liberty ? ” 

The man ceased rowing for a moment, and then ad- 
dressed the passenger in the stern, who, having heard 
what he had to say, nodded briefly. 

“Well, well, Dick Charter!” cried out the man, 
“and have you come back as governor of the colony? 
You look fine enough, anyway. But if you want a 
boat to go to your mother’s old home, you can have 
348 


CAPTAIN ICHABOD PUTS THE CASE 


a seat in this one ; we’re going there, and our pas- 
senger does not object.” 

“Pull up here,” cried Dickory, and in a moment he 
had dropped into the bow of the boat, which then 
proceeded on its way. 

The man in the stern was fairly young, handsome, 
sunburned, and well dressed in a suit of black. When 
Dickory thanked him for allowing him to share his 
boat, the passenger in the stern nodded his head with 
a jerk and an air which indicated that he took the 
incident as a matter of course, not to be further men- 
tioned or considered. 

The men who rowed the boat were good oarsmen, 
but they were not thoroughly acquainted with the 
cove, especially at low tide, and presently they ran 
upon a sand-bar. Then uprose the passenger in the 
stern and began to swear with an ease and facility 
which betokened long practice. Dickory did not 
swear, but he knit his brows and berated himself for 
not having taken the direction of the course into his 
own hands, he who knew the river and the cove so 
well. The tide was rising, but Dickory was too im- 
patient to sit still and wait until it should be high 
enough to float the boat. That was his old home, 
that little house at the head of the cove, and he 
wanted to get there— he wanted to see it. Part of the 
business which brought him to Barbados concerned 
that little house. With a sudden movement he made 
a dive at his shoes and stockings, and speedily had 
them lying at the bottom of the boat. Then he 
stepped overboard and waded toward the shore. In 
some of the deeper places he wetted the bottom of his 
349 


KATE BONNET 


breeches, but he did not mind that. The passenger 
in the stern sat down, but he continued to swear. 

Presently Dickory was on the dry sand and running 
up to that cottage door. A little back from the front 
of the house and in the shade there was a bench, and 
on this bench there sat a girl, reading. She lifted her 
head in surprise as Dickory approached, for his bare 
feet had made no noise ; then she stood up quickly, 
blushing. 

“You ! 77 she exclaimed. 

“Yes / 7 cried Dickory ; “and you look just the same 
as when you first put your head above the bushes and 
talked to me . 77 

“Except that I am more suitably clothed , 77 she said. 

And she was entirely right, for her present dress 
was feminine, and extremely becoming. 

Dickory did not wish to say anything more on this 
subject, and so he remarked : “I have just arrived at 
the town, and I came directly here . 77 

Lucilla blushed again. 

“This is my old home , 77 added Dickory. 

“But you knew we were here ? 77 she asked, with a 
hesitating look of inquiry. 

“Oh, yes , 77 said he ; “I knew that the house had 
been let to your father . 77 

Now she changed color twice— first red, then white. 
“Are you , 77 she said— “I mean— the other, is she — 77 

“I left her in Jamaica , 77 said Dickory, “but I am 
going to marry her . 77 

For a moment the rim of her hat got between the 
sun and her face, and one could not decide very well 
whether her countenance was red or white. 

“I am very glad to find you here , 77 said Dickory ; 
“and may I see your father and mother ? 77 

350 


X92 


CAPTAIN ICHABOD PUTS THE CASE 


“Yes,” said she,* “but they are both in the field 
with my young sister. But who is this man walk- 
ing up the shore? And is that the boat you came 
in?” 

“It is,” said Dickory. “We stuck fast, but I was in 
such a hurry that I waded ashore. I don’t know the 
man ; he had hired the boat, and kindly took me in, 
I was in such haste to get here.” 

For a moment Lucilla bent her eyes on the ground. 
“In such haste to get here ! ” she said to herself ; then 
she raised her head and exclaimed : “Oh, I know that 
man ! He is the pirate captain who captured the Be- 
linda , which afterwards brought us here.” And, with 
both hands outstretched, she ran to meet him. 

The face of Captain Ichabod glowed with irrepress- 
ible delight; one might have thought he was about 
to embrace the young woman, notwithstanding the 
presence of Dickory and the two boatmen ; but he did 
everything he could do before witnesses to express 
his joy. 

Dickory now stepped up to Captain Ichabod. “Oh, 
now I know you,” cried he, and he held out his hand. 
“You were very kind indeed to my friends, and they 
have spoken much about you. This is my old home ; 
this is the house where I was born.” 

“Yes, yes, indeed,” said Captain Ichabod ; “a very 
good house, bedad, a very good house.” But, hesitat- 
ing a little and addressing Lucilla, “You don’t live 
here alone, do you ? ” 

The girl laughed. 

“Oh, no,” she cried. “My father and mother will 
be here presently ; in fact, I see them coming.” 

“That’s very well,” said Ichabod, “very well in- 
deed. It’s quite right that they should live with 
351 


KATE BONNET 

yon. I remember them now ; they were on the ship 
with you.” 

“Oh, yes,” said Lucilla, still laughing. 

“Quite right, quite right,” said Ichabod ; “that was 
very right.” 

“I will go meet your father and mother and the 
dear little Lena; I remember them so well,” said 
Dickory. He started to run off, in spite of his bare 
feet ; but he had gone but a little way when Lucilla 
stopped him. She looked up at him, and this time 
her face was white. 

“Are you sure,” said she, “that everything is settled 
between you and that other girl ? ” 

“Very sure,” said Dickory, looking kindly upon her 
and remembering how pretty she had looked when he 
first saw her face over the bushes. 

She did not say anything, but turned and walked 
back to Captain Ichabod. She found that tall gentle- 
man somewhat agitated ; he seemed to have a great 
deal on his mind which he wished to say, feeling, at 
the same time, that he ought to say everything first. 

“That’s your father and mother,” said he, “stop- 
ping to talk to the young man who was born here ! ” 

“Yes,” she answered ; “and they will be with us 
presently.” 

“Very good, very good ; that’s quite right,” said 
Captain Ichabod, hurriedly. “But before they come 
I want to say— that is, I would like you to know— 
that I have sold my ship. I am not a pirate any 
longer ; I am a sugar-planter, bedad— beg your pardon ! 
That is, I intend to be one. You remember that you 
once talked to me about sugar-planting in Barbados, 
and so I am here. I want to find a good sugar plan- 
352 


CAPTAIN ICHABOD PUTS THE CASE 


tation, to buy it, and live on it ; I heard that you were 
stopping on this side of the river, and so I came here.” 

“But there is no sugar plantation here,” said Lu- 
cilla, very demurely. 

“Oh, no,” said Ichabod, “oh, no, of course not ; but 
you are here, and I wanted to find you ; a sugar plan- 
tation would be of no use without you.” 

She looked at him, still very demurely. “I don’t 
quite understand you,” she said. She turned her head 
a little, and saw that her family and Diekory were 
slowly moving toward the house. She knew that 
with diffident persons no time should be lost, for, if 
interrupted, it often happened that they did not 
begin again. 

“Then I suppose,” she said, her face turned up 
toward him, but her eyes cast down, “that you are 
going to say that you would like to marry me ? ” 

“Of course, of course,” exclaimed Ichabod ; “I 
thought you knew that that is what I came here for, 
bedad.” 

“Very well, then,” said Lucilla, turning her eyes to 
the face of the man she had dreamed of in many 
happy nights. “Ho, no,” she added quickly ; “you 
must not kiss me. They are all coming, and there are 
the two boatmen.” 

He did not kiss her, but later he made up for the 
omission. 

The moment Mrs. Mander saw Captain Ichabod and 
her daughter standing together she knew exactly 
what had happened ; she had noticed things on board 
the Belinda. She hurried up to Lucilla and drew 
her aside. 

“My dear,” she whispered, with a frightened face, 
353 


KATE BONNET 


“you cannot marry a pirate ; you never, never 
can ! ” 

“Dear mother,” said Lucilla, “he is not a pirate ; he 
has sold his ship and is going to be a sugar-planter.” 

Now they all came up and heard these words of 
Lucilla. 

“Yes, indeed,” said Captain Ichabod ; “you may not 
suppose it, but your daughter and I are about to 
marry, and will plant sugar together. Now I want to 
buy a plantation. Where is that young man who was 
born here, bedad?” 

Dickory advanced, laughing. Here was a fine op- 
portunity, a miraculous opportunity, of disposing of 
the Bonnet estate, which was part of the business 
which had brought him here. So he told the beaming 
captain that he knew of a fine plantation up the river 
which he thought would suit him. 

“Very good,” said Captain Ichabod. “I have a 
boat here ; let us go and look at the place, and if it 
suits us I will buy it, bedad.” 

So, with Mrs. Mander and her husband beside her, 
and with Lucilla and the captain by her, the boat was 
rowed up the river, with Dickory and young Lena in 
the bow. 

When the boat reached the Bonnet estate it was 
run up on the shore near the shady spot where Kate 
Bonnet had once caught a fish. Then they all stepped 
out upon the little beach. Even the oarsmen made 
the boat fast and joined the party, who started to 
walk up to the house. Suddenly Captain Ichabod 
stopped and said to Mr. Mander : “I don’t think I care 
to walk up that hill, you know ; and if you and your 
good wife will look over that house and cast your 
354 


CAPTAIN ICHABOD PUTS THE CASE 


eyes about the place, I will buy it, if you say so ; you 
know a good deal more about such things than I do, 
bedad. I suppose, of course, that will suit you ? ” he 
said to Lucilla. 

It suited Lucilla exactly. They sat in the shade in 
the very place where Kate had sat when she saw 
Master Newcombe crossing the bridge. 

A small boat came down the river, rowed by a 
young man. As he passed the old Bonnet property 
he carelessly cast his eyes shoreward, but his heart took 
no interest in what he saw there. What did it matter 
to him if two lovers sat there in the shade, close to 
the river’s brink ? His sad soul now took no interest 
in lovers. He had just been up the river to arrange 
for the sale of his plantation to one of his neighbors. 
He had decided to leave the island of Barbados and 
to return to England. 

The house suited Captain Ichabod exactly when 
Mrs. Mander told him about it, and Lucilla agreed 
with him because she was always accustomed to trust 
her mother in such things. 

So they all got into the boat and rowed back to 
Hickory’s old home ; and on the way Captain Ichabod 
told Hickory that when they returned together to the 
town he would pay him for the plantation, having 
brought specie sufficient for the purpose. 

It was a gay party in the boat as they rowed down 
the river ; it was a gay party at the house when they 
reached it; and they would have all taken supper 
together had the Manders been prepared for such 
hospitality : but they were poor, having taken the 
place upon a short lease and having had but few re- 
turns so far. But they were all going to live at the 
355 


KATE BONNET 


old Bonnet place, and happiness shone over every- 
thing. It was twilight, and the two young men were 
about to walk down to the boat, one of them promis- 
ing to come again early in the morning, when Lucilla 
approached Dickory. 

“Where are you going to live with that girl?” she 
asked in a low voice. 

“In Jamaica,” said he. 

“I am glad of it,” she replied quite frankly. 

They were well content, those Jamaica people, when 
Ben Greenway came to live with them. It had been 
proposed at one time that he should go to his old 
Bridgetown home and take charge of the place as he 
used to ; but the good Scotchman demurred to this. 

“I hae served ane master before he became a 
pirate,” he said, “an’ I don’t want to try anither after 
he has finished bein’ ane. If I serve any mon, let 
him be ane wha has been righteous, wha is righteous 
now, an’ wha will continue in righteousness.” 

“Then serve Master Delaplaine,” said Dickory. 

The Manders soon removed to the little house where 
Dickory was born. The mansion of their daughter 
and her husband was a hospitable place and a lively, 
but the life there was so wayward, erratic, and eccen- 
tric that it did not suit their sober lives and the 
education of their young daughter. So they dwelt 
contentedly in the cottage at the head of the cove, 
and there was much rowing up and down the river. 

It was upon a fine morning that the ex-pirate Ichabod 
thus addressed a citizen of the town : 


356 


CAPTAIN ICHABOD PUTS THE CASE 


“Yes, sir ; I know well who once lived in the house 
I own. I knew the man myself ; I knew him at Be- 
lize. He was a dastardly knave, and would have 
played false to the sun, the moon, and the stars, had 
they shown him an opportunity, bed ad. But I also 
knew his daughter $ she sailed on my ship for many 
days, and her presence blessed the very boards she 
trod on. She is a most noble lady ; and if you will 
not admit, sir, that her sweet spirit and pure soul 
have not banished from this earth every taint of 
wickedness left here by her father, then, sir, bedad, 
stand where you are and draw ! ” 


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